When Lightning Strikes
by AshlynDecia
Summary: One rainy, stormy night three teens on the run come across two brothers chasing the world. Can they stand together under the weight of both worlds? **Reviews/suggestions/feedback LOVED**
1. Chapter 1

The rain outside tapped a persistent pitter patter against the dirty, old glass window. A biting cold wind danced with the rain and blew in through the gaps and cracks in this old house. In the shadows of a dying fireplace fire, a tall man sat slouched in a broken down old recliner, dozing with a half empty bottle in his hand. There was another man with smooth brown locks asleep on the moth eaten bed the next room over. A crack of lightning lit up the sky and was followed a few seconds later by an almighty smack of thunder.

Shattering glass and warm beer covered the floor next to the dozing mans feet as he shot bolt upright, pistol appearing in his hand before the bottle had hit the ground. The haze of sleep was fading from his emerald green eyes but the film of exhaustion never entirely went away.

After several sweeps of the room his body slumped back into the chair, realizing that had just been thunder. He passed a rough and calloused hand through his short hair and grimaced when he saw his shattered beverage. Deciding sleep was a lost cause, he hoisted himself to his feet and paced to the window to peer out into the night and the rain.

As he stood there the hair on the back of his neck rose. There was...something moving between the trees, and fast. It wasn't trying to hide and it was heading straight for that broken down old farm house that the two men were camping in while in town.

"Sammy!" he growled as loud as he dared but it was enough because the man in bed groggily sat up.

"Dean?" he mumbled sleeply. Catching sight of him alert by the window, gun drawn, he stood up quickly, moved near the door jam and cocked his own pearl handled pistol. Dean jerked his head toward the window, beckoning the other toward it. The figures were less than 30 yards from the house.

There were at least 3 of them, hunched up against the rain. The dark and the rain prevented any other discernible features from being noticed. Both men stared out the window and backed themselves against the wall to ensure that they were out of the line of sight. Moving near the door they stood on either side, listening intently for any sound.

Less than a minute later the sound of heavy footsteps hit the soaked wooden porch.

"Well, we picked a fine landing point," a surly voice with a British accent poured through the cracks in the door.

"I'm sorry but at least we are on land," a snappy female voice responded to the first.

"Always with that - it was one time!" a familiarity between the two voices was obvious from the banter.

"How about we nip in out of this wind then? " and a third voice was added to the mix.

"Hang on," the woman interjected. " _Homonim Revelio…_ There's someone here!" the last bit was said in a hoarse whisper. Locking eyes the two men decided that was their cue. Swinging wide Sam kicked the rickety old door practically off its hinges.

Standing just beyond the touch of the rain were three bedraggled robed figures, shoulder to shoulder with their arms extended and a thin slip of wood in each of their hands. From the tip of the center stick, a light glowed illuminating the faces of the two men. Their guns were leveled at the faces of the newcomers, eyes squinted against the glare.

"Who are you?" the man called Sammy growled.

Sticking his chin out, the center boy, for he could be no more than 17 or 18, responded. His black hair was plastered to his pale face and his thin, black rimmed glasses were covered with droplets.

"Nobody. You?" his voice was even but strained.

"Same. What are you doing here?" Dean growled from under his brows as he glared at the three.

"Running," the girl said boldly, causing the other two robed figures to cast alarmed eyes her way. She slowly but resolutely lowered her arm to her side, keeping her chin high and eyes on the black holes of the guns staring at her.

"Running? Running from what?" he snapped, his eyes flicking behind the kids, straining to see anything in the darkness.

"Monsters," she replied, the slightest quaver in her voice. Sammy smirked.

"That's a nice story. But how about something true?" his arm never moving.

"Well, not monsters but like monsters. Very bad people. We just needed somewhere to stay for the night but we can move on... " she made to back up and the two men flicked the tips of their guns up slightly.

"Not so fast little lady. We are about 15 miles outside of the nearest town. I didn't hear any wheels and there ain't no way you three made it all that way in this rain," Dean said with a firm tone. Casting nervous glances back and forth between them the three teens swallowed hard. Without warning, the girl flung her arm back up and, with a complicated flick of her wrist, a shot of white blue light erupted out of the tip of that delicate twig in her hands.

Years of hunting and fighting gave the boys the reflexes they needed to dodge the attack. Leaping forward they tackled two of the newcomers, taking them to the ground and twisting to hold them against their chest, guns rested against the side of their temple. The girl had stepped to the side and the black haired boy along with his red-haired freckled companion were strong-armed against the two stood stock still while the taller red-haired boy spouted.

"What in the name of…"

"Ron, shut up!" the girl stammered, fear dripping from her voice

"Yeah, Ron, listen to the lady," Sam snapped, pulling tighter against the boy he was restraining,

"Okay, okay listen. I'm Hermione and.. and this is obviously Ron and that there, that is Harry and we are just trying to stay out of the way of some really bad people. We are sorry to bother you and if you.. if you just," she spouted off in a slow panic.

"Ahh!" the black haired boy called Harry gasped sharply as a thin silver blade sliced the exposed side of his hand. Taken back by the attack, the redhead called Ron gasped anew when the man holding him poured cold water from a flask over his already soaked head. The two men locked eyes.

"Not demon."

"Or shifter."

Herimone's eyes widen in panic.

"No, no we are just people please please listen I… I…."

Giving a quick jerk with their legs, the men pulled the arms of the two boys, causing their hands to spasm and the little powerful sticks to roll comically onto the porch.

"Alright missy, now you." Hands out like a hostage she carefully squatted down and set hers on the porch. The two boys were then roughly pushed to their feet and herded over toward the girl, guns trained on their faces.

"Alright, Ron, Harry, Hermione. What the heck did you shoot at us and what the heck could three kids be running from?"

"We're just… just on the run and we didn't mean anything and if you could just give us our wands back we could…" Harry stammered, trying to sound brave.

"Wands? What, these?" Sam said eyeing the three slips of wood on the porch. The three kids didn't speak.

"Wands like wizards and magic and dragons?" Dean asked, doubt written all over his face.

"Well, yeah, what do you think? Just nutters with twigs?" Ron snapped waspishly.

"Listen, we really aren't here to cause any trouble. Our mistake and if we could just get them we will be out of your way." The three kids seemed completely out of their element without their wands and they stood staring nervously at the pistols still leveled at them.

"Dean… they're just kids…" Sam said slowly, not moving his eyes. After a long moment, Dean lowered his gun and squatted quickly to scoop the sticks up, never taking his eyes off the group huddled on the other side of the porch. Sam lowered his gun once Dean had the wands.

"I'm Dean and this here is my brother Sammy," Dean said, gesturing at his brother with the ends of the wands. "Sorry about all the third degree but you can never be sure, ya know?" The visitors didn't move.

"Listen, why don't you come inside out of the rain so we can help," Sam started slowly. The two men turned toward what was left of the doors to usher the kids in.

With the reflexes of a trained athlete, Harry leapt toward the cluster of wands held loosely in Dean's hand. He managed to close his fist around the three handles. Hermione and Ron were clutching the hem of his robe and he gave a violent twist. The three soaked kids disappeared from the porch, right into thin air. Dean had stumbled into the door, surprised by the sudden attack. The two men just sat there, staring at the spot where moments before there had been three bodies. Dean experimentally swiped his hand through the air that was cool and empty.

"What in the…" Sam started as he walked toward the spot, staring around awestruck.

"Well, I guess there must be some things we still don't know, huh, Sammy?" Dean said looking up sideways at his brother, an amused smile playing across his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the views and favorites, you lovely people! Enjoy chapter 2 - I am always open to feedback/story ideas as this one is playing out chapter by chapter._

\o/o\o/

"Do you think they will come back for this?" Sammy asked quizzically as he bent down and picked up a purple beaded bag. Only moments before there had been three sopping wet teens claiming to be wizards standing in front of them. And now they were gone; disappeared into thin air. He stood cautiously, unsure of what to do now, looking to his older brother.

Dean seemed more amused than anything, which was surprising. He had a half-cocked smile on his face as he shook his head and stared around.

"Dean?" Sam probed again.

Dean glanced at the bag in his brothers hand and shrugged with a frown on his face. "What's in it?"

Sam frowned curiously as he loosened the string on the bag that felt so light he thought it was empty. Staring into the interior, he saw only black shadows. Experimentally he stuck his hand inside the bag. His eyes widen and he stared up at his brother when he pulled the bag all the way up to his armpit and still didn't feel the bottom. Being only about 6 inches long, this was not what he had expected.

But that little bag now had their full attention. Walking over to it, Dean pulled it slowly down Sam's arm and stuck his own arm inside. They wore matching expressions of wonder when he too felt a vast space inside the bag. He jostled his hand and felt various things bump arond. They felt like poles, books, and bottles with clothing wrapped around all of it.

He closed his hand over a small angular bottle that fit neatly into his palm and pulled it out of the bag. Looking at it in the starlight, he read _Dittany_ in a neat scrolling script on the side of the bottle.

"What in the world?" Sam asked grabbing the bag slowly back from Dean as he unstoppered the little bottled and experimentally sniffed the contents. Dean pulled back as the strong scent of mint and aloe hit his nose.

Flashlight in hand, Sam held it over the opening of the bag and peered into the seemingly endless hole. The skin around his eyes tightened and his lips thinned. "Dean," he mumbled hoarsely. Dean leaned in and gazed into the magic bag. Blood drained from his face.

"No way."

Inside the bag there was what seemed to be a vast interior; it resembled the inside of an enormous trunk. There were stacks of books, a bag of poles and tarp, endless bottles and flasks and small cloth bags, what looked like fancy old-fashioned broomsticks and endless other items that made no sense to either Winchester.

"Makes those wands a little more believable," Dean mused.

"Well, I can guarantee they will be back for it, those _wands_ blazing," Sam stated.

"Yeah, and that little firecracker about cleaned our clock without even trying. What's say we head out?" Dean asked as he stepped off the old porch into the rain and the dark.

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, appearing distracted. Pulling the golden cord that closed up this wondrous little bag, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his denim jacket as he followed his brother to their '67 Impala.

/o\o/o\

Three soaked figures stood in the middle of a field, bent double breathing hard. Eventually, they pushed their sodden hair back and peered up at the watery afternoon sunlight shining down on them. Surrounding the grassy field were tall, old trees that grew into a perfect screen, hiding them from the eyes of any looking their way. It was a much more favorable spot compared to their last landing point.

"Much better," Ron said, rubbing his neck, which was a little red thanks to Sams hold on him.

"Definitely. How did we end up in that place anyway?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione as he held his lightly bleeding hand. He had passed the wands back to their owners when they had first landed.

"To be fair, I was thinking of a forest in Sussex that I read about but hadn't actually been to. I guess I was tired and we might have ended up in Sussex, Delaware - in the states," she finished softly.

"That explains why I am completely wiped," Harry sighed as he straightened out his stiff limbs. "Can you pass me some Dittany, Hermione?" he said staring at the gash in his hand.

"Yeah, sure..." she said as she reached into the inside pocket of her robe. Her motions became frantic as she riffled through all her pockets and patted her body down. Pale and sweating she asked, "Do either of you have my bag?" Their blank, panic filled stares answered her question.

"I must... I must have... have dropped it when... oh no," stammering she closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

"Let me guess, back with those lovely brothers," Ron sighed. Hermione only nodded, a small jerky movement. The three of them stood there, at a complete loss.

"We have to go back. Everything is in there- our supplies, everything!" Hermione pleaded.

"I know, I know. It's just - it's raining and dark there. What are the chances we find that little bag without getting shot first?" Harry responded with a heavy voice.

"Getting what?" Ron asked confused.

"Shot, Ron. Those were guns - muggle weapons that blast chunks of metal very, very fast. They almost killed the two of you," Hermione explained exasperated.

"Splendid," he said looking at the ground. "So what do we do?"

"Let's kip a couple hours under those trees, dry out and wait for morning to come - where ever we were. In the sunlight, we might have enough of an advantage with these," Harry explained holding up his slim wand, "to find the bag and get out before they even know we are there." Hermione looked unsure but didn't come up with any other plan. Nodding in consent, the three ambled, exhausted, to the densest patch of trees they could see. Circling, they cast all the muggle repelling and protection spells they could in a tight circle around them. Satisfied with their work, they slumped against the trunk of an ancient maple tree. Ron and Harry nodded off almost immediately while Hermione, on her watch, peered nervously out into the English afternoon sun. Playing over and over in her mind where the hundreds of horrible things that could happen because she had dropped that bag...


	3. Chapter 3

_The two story threads will merge very soon - I promise!_

 _Thanks for your feedback and messages, lovelies!_

\o/o\o/

After a few hours of sleep, Harry and Ron woke to Hermione snoozing softly, her head resting on her chest. Apparently the stress and adventure of the last few hours had been a little much. Gently rousing her, the three of them silently linked hands, wands grasped between fingers. With a crack and pop, the field was empty once more.

Bright morning sun suddenly poured down on them as they stared at the run down old farm house, which looked even more ominous in the daylight than it had a few hours before. The trio stood silently, watching. Harry nudged Hermione softly.

"Cars gone," he whispered, pointing to the driveway where there were deep mud lines from spinning tires.

"Still, we don't know what they might have left behind," she whispered the guilt from the night before hung on her skin, like the rain was still falling. "Listen, I will creep up there and see if I can find the bag. Just wait here and keep watch," she whispered quickly.

"No way, we should all..." Ron started, a protective shadow on his voice.

'Ron, I'm harder to see and better at silent spells. I'll be fine. Besides, it is easier to see from here and you'll catch things I don't. Then you can run in," she stated, closing the matter. Turning back toward the house, she took a deep breath and began muttering spells as she swiped her wand around her body. Holding it waist high, she silently cast spells of protection and detection as she crept behind bushes toward the house.

She kept as close as she could to the path they had trudged up the night before, clearly marked by the squelchy footsteps they had left. She silently chastised herself, remembering to address that in the future. She made it all the way to the porch with no sign of her precious bag. Looking desperately around the small porch, she felt the panic start to rise up in her throat. Tears starting to form in her eyes, she caught a glint of gold from the far end of the porch. Rushing toward it she lifted the single thread. Instantly she knew where it had come from and dreaded to think what that meant. She peeked into the windows of the house, checking to see if they might still be there but not really holding much hope.

Defeated, she stumbled back to the boys, stripping away her defensive spells as she went.

"It's gone. I think they must have snatched it or picked it up," she said, a lump in her throat.

"So... so what do we do?" Ron asked, confused. She swallowed hard.

"Well, I put a very complicated watcher spell on the bag so if I can find a body of water, I can basically scry for it and see what is around it. It's just, wherever the bag is, it will glow green while I am watching it," she said staring around for some sign of water. Her eyes rested on the deep puddles that dotted the forlorn gravel driveway. Resolutely she walked toward the nearest one.

She swished her wand in a careful pattern, ending with a sideways flick. The surface of the water bubbled a moment before an image, as clear as if they were in the same room, appeared on the surface of the muddy water.

The bag was sitting on a dirty little plastic table. Two tall men sat near it, heads together over a large book. Almost instantly, Hermione recognized the tall turrets and colors in the images on the page they were reading.

"Oh no..." she whispered knowing that the situation had just gone from really bad to the very worst

/o\o/o\

Waking with a sudden jerk, Sam looked around the dingy motel room where he and Dean had spent the rest of the night. After leaving that run down old farm house, they had driven 45 minutes to the other side of the small town where they were working a job. Finding the most derelict looking motel they could, they had rented a room and promptly passed out on the worn beds. The smell of past guests hung in the air, making Sam crumple his nose as he slid his feet into the boots at the foot of the bed.

Groggily he ambled over to the small, stained table in the corner where they had deposited their duffle bag and jackets. As he picked up his faded canvas coat, gold tasseling glinted from the inside pocket and the memories of the day before came trickling back into his consciousness like leftover rain falling from leaves. Forgetting his original intent of heading out on the morning coffee run, Sam sat in the pleather chair and pulled the small bag out of his pocket. Curiosity driving him, he opened the top and clicked on the reading lamp over the table to shine directly into the bag.

Studying more carefully, he read the spines of some of the books that he could see.

 _1,000 Magical Herbs and Fungi_

 _Jinxs and Counterjinxes for the Everyday Spellcaster_

 _Advanced Potion Making_

Sam rubbed his temples, still having a hard time wrapping his brain around everything that was going on. Always keen on research, especially something this unique, he reached his hand in and blindly pawed for one of the texts he had seen. After a moment of groping, he closed his fingers around a spine and carefully lifted it from the magical room.

 _Hogwarts: A History_

Opening to the first page, Sam quickly found himself engrossed in the facts and history of this school that had been around for more than a thousand years. A mecca of magical learning and knowledge, there seemed to be no end to the new and fascinating information. Nearly an hour later, Dean woke with a blurry jerk. It took a moment or so for him to register his surroundings and notice his brother sitting at the rickety old table, nose stuck inside a massive old book.

"What's up Sammy?" he asked, slurring through his sleepiness, as he walked over toward his brother. Sam looked up, wonder gleaming in his eyes like someone who had seen the stars for the first time. "Dean, apparently there is a lot we still don't know."

Together they poured through this unbelievable book, making mental notes of dozen of other things to research. It was maybe 10 or 15 minutes later, as they sat engrossed, that the purple bag began to glow softly green...


	4. Chapter 4

Not moving, barely breathing, the two brothers turned all their attention to the softly glowing bag. Slowly they turned their heads from side to side, looking for anything that would give them clues as to what was going on. After a moment or so, the glowing faded without a sound just as it had appeared and still they sat frozen.

Finally, Dean reached out a cautious finger and prodded the silk and embroidered bag. It felt just as it had before, soft and empty. He picked it up gingerly, turning it over and over in his hands. Peering into it, he saw only the black void but upon sticking his arm up to the elbow inside, he couldn't find anything that had changed. He set it back on the table and shrugged at Sam as they put their heads back over the text they had been reading.

\o/o\o/

When Hermione saw the men staring at the bag, she dashed the surface of the puddle causing the spell to break. Frustrated she stomped back over to the waiting boys.

"So?" Harry asked curiously, staring at the defeated Hermione. She sighed a deep breath before speaking.

"They have it in... some little bedroom," she remembered the pamphlets that had been propped up beside the television "I think it is a hotel or motel or something but that's not all." She now had their complete attention. "They opened it and pulled some things out. They were reading _Hogwarts: A History_." She finished and the color drained from Harry and Ron's face, leaving all three teens looking pale and scared.

"Well, there are only about a hundred more things that could go wrong," Ron said, trying to lighten the mood. The sideways glances from his friends silenced him.

"Now we really need to get it back," Harry added emphatically.

"But how?" Hermione asked, "We don't even really know where they are - just in a motel."

"Well, it can't be that far because we haven't been gone that long. We just need to find a directory or something - and fast," Harry said.

"But we don't even really know where we are - and all we have are our wands," Hermione explained.

"Why don't we just apparate about a mile or so at a time until we hit something?" Ron mused. Not seeing a better option, the three of them trudged toward the road, to try and get some kind of bearings. As they crept from the cover of the trees, they saw a large green sign on the side of the smooth blacktop that said _Greenwood 12._

"Well, that is convenient," Hermione blurted. They looked at her confused. Like they were children, she explained "That sign means that there is a town called Greenwood 12 miles that way," she finished pointing south.

"With no cloak this will be tricky," Harry said sounding less confident than before.

"Let's just do it. Eleven miles south so we can walk the rest of the way into town and just pray that no one is on the road," she was more panicked about what else those brothers might pull out of the bag.

\o/o\o/

For nearly 2 hours the brothers sat in that musty old motel room as the morning sun started to pour in through the faded curtains. They read more and more about Hogwarts. Afterward, they put the book back in the bag as carefully as they could manage and Sam pulled out two more texts that they each poured through. From what they gleaned, there was a strong powerful magical community that had been around for a very long time. Although most of the information was about Great Britain, Sam and Dean did not find it hard to imagine that the same existed in the US.

As Dean clipped shut the book he had been leafing through, _Defense Against the Darkest Arts_ , he said, "This ain't all bunnies and magic wishes, Sammy. There is some dark, nasty stuff in this book," he had a look of disgust on his face as he placed the creepy book on the table.

"No kidding, dude reading about some of the historical events, I am amazed we haven't heard of this community before. I mean look here, this guy basically Hitlered the magical community of the UK."

"Awesome. Well, my head is full and sore. How 'bout we fill up the other tank?" he questioned, patting his stomach. Sam looked up, smiling.

"Yeah, come on," and he grabbed both books and wedged them back into the bag. "But seriously what are we going to do about this?" he asked as they grabbed their duffle and headed out the door.

\o/o\o/

With a sharp crack, three worn out, dirty cloaked teens appeared about 30 feet from the edge of the empty highway. Ambling up to the road, they headed toward the town called Greenwood, about a mile away according to the sign. As they walked, none of them talked, just watched their surroundings carefully, their wands held loosely inside the sleeve of their cloaks.

After almost half an hour, the edge of a town started to come into focus. They could see the outline of a small filling station with a greasy looking little diner connected to it. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in long dirty cloaks with unwashed hair, they strolled into the town, eyes peeled for any signs of a motel. As they meandered past the diner, Ron turned looking longingly toward the smell of fried potatoes and strong coffee. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. Sitting in the diner in the booth nearest the door were two tall men, plowing into their hot breakfast.

"Ron, what the..." Harry stopped, looking back at Ron. His eyes flicked up to where his best friend was staring and he too stopped speaking and walking. He shot his hand out and grabbed Hermione's wrist.

"Wha..." she too found the diner window and halted abruptly. The three of them stood there staring dumbfounded at the two men they were looking for, unsure of what to do next. Hermione was the first to come to her senses. Shaking her head, she made a mental checklist, rolled her eyes, and marched toward the seedy looking little diner. Glancing toward one another, Ron and Harry hustled after her, unsure of what she was planning.

Hermione waltzed into the diner, over to the booth with the two men and sat directly next to the short-haired green eyed man she remembered as Dean. Harry and Ron, not trusting this plan but not wanting to draw anymore attention to themselves, wedged in next to the tall dark haired man Dean had called Sam.

The five bodies in the booth sat completely still, eyes resting on one another. Movement in the diner continued on around them like reality wasn't just altering for the boys in the booth and fear wasn't pouring from the teens. The waitress ambled over to their table with a coffee pot, sloshing strong high test into the cups of the brothers.

"You kids want sumtin to eat?" she drawled, paying no attention to their strange attire and dirty faces. Hermione turned brightly toward the waitress.

"Yes, thank you. We'll take three coffees please."

"And pancakes! A large plate of pancakes," Ron added eagerly eyeing the half eaten stack in front of Dean. The waitress glanced at him under heavily painted eyelashes, and nodded before moseying back to the counter.

"Good morning, Dean. Sam," Hermione chimed as she turned toward the younger Winchester. "I believe you have something that belongs to me and I would like to have it back," and with a barely perceptible twist of her arm, the thin point of her wand rested just under her fingertips on the table. Practically in-sync with this motion a gentle click was heard and she felt the hard cold tip of a gun digging in just under her rib cage. Dean had used the moments of her greeting to shift his arm and grab his weapon. Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills.


	5. Chapter 5

_You people are lovely, thanks for reading my story! I love the feedback because this story is growing as I go so I love getting ideas from other brilliant minds ;)_

\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/

Harry and Ron didn't move. They could tell from the white pallor of Hermione's face that something wasn't right. The tension and silence settling over the table was so thick it was suffocating.

"Alright missy. Now, I'm not looking to gank a couple of kids but I know that thunder stick in your hand right there can lay the almighty codswallop on everything on this diner. But, I think we can both agree that we can stow the dramatics?" Dean spoke in a low, firm voice, eyeing the terrified girl, hoping she made the right choice. Slowly Hermione lifted both her hands a few inches off the table, and slid them into her lap. Dean laid the gun in his lap under the cover of his jacket and placed his hands on the table.

"Listen, all we want is that bag and then, poof. We are gone. Please, just..." Hermione began, quietly holding Dean's gaze.

"And that's fair. We just wanna talk. We have seen a lot of strange, I mean really strange, things but we have never heard about any of this; any of your world. Why?" Sam began calmly.

"The International Statute of Secrecy decreed in 1689, put into affect in 1692, lays down protocols to maintain our secrecy and deal with infractions," Hermione recited like she was reading a line from a law book.

"Meaning?" Dean asked with scrunched eyebrows. Just then the waitress walked over with their coffees and pancakes. She bounced them down on the table and smiled as she waltzed away. Ron, even in such a high stress situation, could not resist the allure of fluffy, buttery, syrupy breakfast. He grabbed the sticky bottle and nearly emptied it on top of the breakfast and began digging in. All eyes watched him for a moment before he realized it.

"Wha?" he asked with a mouthful of half-chewed pancakes.

Hermione shook her head and continued, "There are laws and teams in place to keep us hidden and alter the memories of those that uncover us."

"You mean like brainwashing?" Sam asked looking alarmed.

"No, just simply erasing memories about us, leaving a gap or small confusion. Nothing damaging as long as we can help it," she said dismissively.

The brothers shared a look that leaked disapproval.

"But this world of yours seems pretty big - and old - and dark, judging by some of the books you carry," Sam replied.

"It is, that is why there is the Ministry of Magic to keep everything in balance. Or at least there used to be," Ron finished darkly.

"Used to be?" asked Dean, eyes narrowed.

"Well, I guess the US government is still stable in some form but the magical community in the UK is in shambles," Harry ventured.

"Does this have something to do with this big baddie that's tailing you three?" Sam asked.

Unsure of what to say, how to say it, and why they were even still sitting here, the trio exchanged glances. Ron shrugged as he piled more food into his mouth. Hermione tilted her head and grimaced slightly as if to say _"What harm is there?_ ". Harry, sighing deeply, ruffled his hands through his untidy hair. At the same time, his stomach gurgled noisily and he couldn't remember the last time that he had eaten. Sam smirked a small half-smile and gestured toward the waitress at the counter.

\o/o\o/

Nearly an hour later, after several cups of coffee and plates of sweetly soaked pancakes, the trio and brothers had talked more than any of them had in a very long time. At first the conversation had been strained and perfunctory; neither side wanting to give ground. But Sam's eagerness to understand it all had won over. Even Dean had relaxed, leaning back a little in the booth and sipping on his coffee that never seemed to empty. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared bits and pieces of what they were doing, artfully dodging any mention of the horcruxes all together. But Sam and Dean now saw the full picture of how this skinny, dirty black haired boy and his two companions were connected to one of the most vile wizards to ever live; so evil they couldn't even say his name. And how that connection had ripped their world apart. In turn, Sam and Dean shared some of the family business with these young kids and some of the stranger things that it had dragged their way thus far. This included angels, demons, and levithans to name a few. In front of these young, somewhat terrified looking kids, the brothers left out some of their own darker connections to this life of theirs, wanting them to feel safe. Which, for all their talking, is something they obviously hadn't felt in a very long time.

Each person sitting there wondered at one point or another, just why there was such an ease and openness with perfect strangers. Maybe it was shared suffering. Maybe it was mutual need. Maybe it was that deep down they knew the other people sitting there were all fighting the good fight to protect people who would never know. Dean, especially felt protective. Looking at them, he saw them living so much of the life he and Sammy had been forced to live, but they had at least had John, for all his imbalance. These kids were literally fighting the world alone. And unless he was very off his game, he felt they had a huge fight ahead of them.

As the third and fourth cups of coffee cooled in their hands, the conversation started to slow down.

"So, unless my dots aren't connecting right, I am guessing that you three aren't just running - you are working on something?" Dean chimed, making the connection the trio had been trying to avoid. They each averted their gaze which only confirmed the Winchesters suspicions.

"Come on guys, we have worked enough jobs with less evidence than that," Sam said smiling. "Maybe we can help."

"Listen, that is really a great thought but we could not put that on you. This is our fight. Besides, the Death Eaters hunting us view Muggle torture as a national sport," Ron said dryly.

"Wouldn't be a first," Dean mumbled darkly.

"Hang on, you're being hunted directly by Death Eaters, as in Volde-" Sam started excitedly, making a connection with a story he had read in one of the textbooks earlier.

"NO!" the trio screamed at the top of their voices, causing everyone in the diner to jump. But it wasn't enough because the second syllable slipped off Sam's lips.

"mort." he finished unable to stop and suddenly looked mortified, recalling what the kids had said about the Taboo.

A caterwalling echoed through the streets, sounding like it was about a mile away.

"That's the enchantment I laid coming into town," Hermione said breathless as they all stood up.

"Meaning?" Dean barked, trying to get hold of the situation.

"Snatchers - responding to the broken Taboo," Harry said frantically, eyeing a pale Sam. "We need to go now," he held up his wand.

"Listen, this is my fault. Let us help. We have a place where you can at least shower and sleep for a little while," Sam pleaded. Staring at one another, the trio didn't really see another option, since the brothers still had their bag.

"Fine, whatever, let's just GO!" Ron shouted as a cluster of mistmatched and lanky bodies started strolling up the road, clearly searching for something. Harry, Ron, and Hermione went to join hands and Hermione stuck her empty hand out to Dean.

"No, no - we go muggle style. Besides they won't be looking for that," he stated, unwilling to leave his Baby out front. Rolling her eyes, she scooted over so the eldest Winchester could lead the way out of the diner. The five of them tried to look casual and uninteresting since the Snatchers hadn't caught scent of them yet. However, as the bell of the diner tinkled, a dirty looking chap with a few missing teeth and a closely shaved head glanced their way. His eyes narrowed on seeing bodies in cloaks and he broke away from the group that was already splintering, hunting for the wizards who had broken the Taboo. He crunched through the gravel parking lot as the five of them loaded into the sleek black '67 Chevy Impala out front. Harry and Sam where the last two sliding in on the passenger side, when the Snatcher, about 10 feet away stopped to stare at them.

Not thinking, Harry flicked his eyes up toward their pursuer; just in time to watch the man's pupils dilate as he shouted.

"Over 'ere! It's 'im! Scar and all! POTTER! POTTER!" his rough uncouth voice rent the air of this quiet sleepy town and loud footfalls followed it. He wasn't fast is raising his wand, however, and Harry easily disarmed him before slamming the car door shut.

"GO!" he shouted as he watched the small pinpricks of the other Snatchers tear towards the car. Dean didn't need told; he slammed the gear shift and peeled through the parking lot, exiting behind the diner onto the old cracked roads. Making sharp turns with squealing tires, he looked for a way out of the town at top speed. Hermione was mumbling to herself in the back, her wand wafting over the edges of the old car. Harry and Ron had their wands poised, Sam his gun cocked, alert for danger.

Suddenly, from the left, a huge crash of yellow light slammed into the Impala, knocking it sideways a foot or so before the tires caught the road again. Dean's already pained face constricted more and he pressed his foot down to the floor. Seeing a long stretch of open highway, he barreled through a small, dried up lawn and whipped the tail end of the car to the right as he sped down the open stretch of road, leaving the Snatchers behind.


	6. Chapter 6

_To address a few questions:This is slightly AU where there is no Darkness post MoC removal because... well, I don't really understand it. It may come into play later in the story once season 11 progresses a bit._

 _Also, I legitimately Googled a DH timeline to see if I would have time to play this out between Malfoy Manor and the Battle of Hogwarts. I decided not to because of the planning for Gringotts so this is set somewhere between Lovegood's house and Malfoy Manor (but that can be altered based on feedback because nothing is set in stone here).  
_

 _Just for those lovely facty people like myself, here is the DH timeline I used: wiki/Muggles'_Guide_to_Harry_Potter/Timeline#Hogwarts.2C_Year_Seven._

 _Thanks again for being so interested and responsive - this is my second fic and I having SO MUCH FUN writing it :)_

\o/o\o/

"What the heck was that?" Dean growled, watching the high afternoon sun reach its peak point in the sky.

"Snatchers," Hermione mouthed softly. There had been a few nights hidden in the woods across England when Snatchers had roved dangerously close to where they were hiding. They were dangerous and often stupid hired hitman that hunted Muggleborn wizards and any other wizard on the wrong side of Voldemort. "Like mercenaries - no conscience and often not a lot of brains," she added trying to sound braver than she felt. Hermione knew she was a gifted witch and she had been in more than one situation where she had shown her merit but the idea of a whole group of people intentionally hunting people like her made her skin crawl.

"Awesome. And they popped up because of me?" Sam said, the frustration evident in his voice. No one replied so he continued, taking their silence as an affirmation. "They were screaming your name Harry?" Sam probed.

"Yeah - that was not good. Now they know, or at least they think they know, that I am in the States - I wouldn't be surprised if Death Eaters turn up in that town within the hour."

"Wait, Death Eaters - like those dudes that see torture of innocent people as a passtime?" Dean asked, eyes squinted. Hermione nodded, pale, her eyes on Dean's face in the rear view mirror. He looked pensive. Finally, after a moment or two of silence, Dean slowed down and pulled off to the side of the road.

"Listen, our place is about a day from here. I have a friend who can get you there quicker. But Sam and I are headed back to that town," Dean explained as he turned around in the parked car to face the teens. They all paled even further and started to argue and rebuttal against the eldest Winchester. He adopted what can only be described as a dad face- eyes closed, lips thin and a hand raised in front of him

"Stop. Stop! Listen - this is our job - what we do. And we brought that mess of trouble onto those people so we aren't just gonna let those dogs turn the place sideways," he said firmly.

"They can kill you without a word, in a flash of green light before you step out of your car. And they have no reason not to kill you - not that they would look for one anyways. But if they figure out how your connected to us, they'll do worse than kill you, I'm sure," Harry explained, trying to match the serious tone that the confident Dean exuded.

"Listen, kid, we have both been through our fair share of torture. I am sure it's nothing we couldn't handle," Dean said.

"Don't be so sure," Harry muttered darkly, recalling the various times the mind-melting Cruciatus Curse had racked his body to the core.

"Doesn't matter, we can't leave those people to die because of us. If there is anything you can tell us to help us, that would be great. Then, like Dean said, we have a friend that can take you to our bunker while we finish the job," Sam said with a determined face. Hermione sighed a deep breath, eyes closed and then looked at her hands.

"Well, if you are set on doing this - we can help. But we are going with you," she said without looking up at their faces. This started a fresh wave of argument, this time from the brothers. Just as they had quelled the trio, Hermione let them finish and then argued on.

Back and forth arguments went in that Impala. For nearly half an hour they argued, defended, plotted and planned until a rough sketch arose. Each person in that car was too stubborn to be told to sit this fight out and they each felt, in part, responsible for the destruction about to rain down on that small town. After the plan was more or less final, Sam locked eyes with Dean.

"Still might be a good idea to call Cas," he said. Dean shrugged in agreement and closed his eyes.

"Hey Cas - you busy, man?"

Suddenly, right on Hermione's lap there appeared a tall, dark haired slender man with piercing blue eyes. He wore a simple suit with a trench coat that ended mid thigh. At first he stared straight ahead but after a moment he realized that he was on top of another person and apologetically shifted himself to wedge in between Ron and Hermione. The eyes of the three backseat passengers were wide with shock at they stared at the newcomer, who looked from them to the brothers and back to them.

"Sorry - that doesn't usually happen," he said to break the silence.

"Cas - this here is Hermione, Ron, and Harry. They're..." Dean began introductions.

"Wizards - I can see it on their souls. Born with high magic in the blood. Fairly rare nowadays - a pretty secretive community," he said in a deep, staccato voice.

"Right, and this is Castiel - angel of God in the flesh," Dean said introducing Cas to the teens. Cas turned to look at Dean, the obvious question written on his face.

"It is a long story," Sam said smiling ruefully. "Listen, Cas, we are kind of in a jam..."

\o/o\o/

Almost an hour later, the black car approached the edge of the town they had fled not long ago. They were serious and silent, intent on what they were planning to do. Cas had had some interesting insights into their plan and they had changed certain pieces, hoping to make it out of this town again.

"Pull off here," Hermione chimed. "My wards start up there by that oak tree. Once we get closer, I can see if they have been triggered or broken." This meant that the rest of their journey would be on foot. "Sam, I need the bag," she added reaching her hand out.

Regardless of the connections that had been made in the last few hours, of the plans that they had laid together, Sam hesitated. There was absolutely nothing stopping these three kids from disappearing into thin air once they had that bag; nothing but their word. As much as both the brothers wanted to trust them, it went against the grain of how they were raised- and many of the situations they had found themselves in. Hermione held Sam's eyes as he looked heavily at her, wanting to believe and trust these three.

"Listen, I swear we won't apparate," Ron chimed, "Besides, I was really looking forward to that bath!" he added pouring as much bravado into his voice as he could. Dean smiled a wry smile, understanding the deep allure of those simple pleasures that people so often take for granted. He nodded to Sammy, who slid his hand into his canvas jacket and pulled out the small silk and beaded bag, slowly but firmly placing it in the young womans hand. Smiling reassuringly, she closed her thin fingers around it. She loosened the top and stuck her hand inside, pawing around for some supplies.

Carefully, she pulled a silken silvery cloak out of the bag and passed it to Harry, who held it in a pile on his lap. Apparently, it was an invisibility cloak and Harry would be spending most of this trip concealed beneath- since he was "Undesirable No. 1". Next she pulled out a small flask with a head as the stopper and two small, grubby glasses. She plunked some of the chunky, foul smelling potion from inside the flask into the two cups. Reaching in the bag, she pulled out a small green canvas satchel and carefully dropped a long yellow hair in one glass and a short black hair into the other. The first glass fizzed and turned an appealing shade of purple and the second smoked softly while it turned a deep shade of red.

She handed the red one to Ron and they both downed the glasses, making a terrible face as the sour tasting potion flowed over their tongues. Before the eyes of the Winchesters, the skins of the two wizards started to bubble and change. After a moment or so, there was a young blonde girl with creamy white skin and clear-blue eyes sitting where Hermione had been. A tall man with pock marked skin and closely shaved black hair was sitting where Ron had been. Sam and Dean rubbed their eyes, processing what they were watching and fighting every urge they had to shun this new world they were sinking further into.

Hermione plopped the glasses and flask back into the bag. She reached deep into the bag one more time and pulled two amulets out. The shiny small opals clinked together on their long golden chains. Holding one out to each brother she explained what they were. "These won't block or deflect anything lethal so stay quick. But this should divert smaller curses and jinxes." Gingerly both men looped their fingers through the chains and slipped them over their heads. The small amulets felt cold through their shirts.

The hottest part of the afternoon was well underway although in Delaware this only meant comfortable weather. The bright sun gleamed onto the Earth. Around them, the world continued; birds chirped, a farmer drove his irrigation tractor through a field and an old blue pick up pulled into the diner where they had sat less than 5 hours ago.

"Okay, that's everything," she said, slipping the magic bag into the interior pocket of her robe and holding her wand aloft, the tip softly glowing. Silently the six bodies poured out of the car and walked stealthily toward that oak tree. They slowed as they approached and Hermione crept forward.

"They have been triggered but not broken - that means they are here- somewhere in the town. We have to assume they know about the spell and it will alert them once I disable it or we cross through. Ready?" she explained as she returned to the group. Each nodded. Hermione and Sam headed straight toward the oak tree, preparing to waltz through the middle of the mine field. Looking tentative but determined, Dean rested his hand on Ron's shoulder and they both disappeared with a twist and a crack, headed to the other side of town to approach from the shadows of the church. Harry and Castiel kept their eyes on Sam and Hermione. Harry slid under the cloak and they waited and watched, prepared to follow as surprise back up for the two forerunners.

Cas shot out a hand to steady Harry as he shifted his weight and caught his foot on an unseen root. Harry's eyes were wide.

"What?" Castiel asked curiously.


	7. Chapter 7

It was quiet as Dean and Ron strolled into the town. Once they had landed, Dean had doubled over, hands on his knees trying very hard not hurl. Apparating felt like being squeezed through a straw - he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Landing had felt like being dunked in ice water. After a few moments, he shook his head and stood straight up.

"I'm good," he ground out in reply to Ron's concerned look.

They had waited a few minutes before moving into the boundary of the town - to give Hermione enough time to disarm the wards so that their entrance would go unnoticed. They were about a mile from where the rest of their crew was strolling into the spotlight - the plan was for Dean and Ron to swoop in and try to knock the attackers out unawares. How exactly they were going to do that was left... flexible.

"So, Ron, how long you three been running?" Dean asked trying to lighten the levity of their march. Conversations at breakfast had been so filled with facts and information about the wizarding world that some of the more personal touches had been overlooked.

"Ummm... ha, you know it feels like forever. In a way we have always been running. This kind of stuff seems to follow Harry around. It kind of comes with the territory. But this leg- since the end of July," Ron said, still watching the path ahead as they wound their way through the thin trees. Dean smiled, finding a deep thread of understanding.

"I know what you mean. Ever since my mom died, this has been the life for me and Sammy. Some days are darker than others," Dean added personal touches of his own to the conversation.

"I'm sorry," Ron said simply and quietly.

"For what?" Dean asked confused. Ron stopped their journey through branches and bramble to look at Dean.

"For your mum. I'm sorry to here about her," Ron said seriously looking right at Deans face. Dean stood staring straight at this boy, maybe 18 with shaggy red hair and a smattering of freckles. His height gave him the appearance of someone older but Dean could see the softness and... hope in his eyes. And he smiled, showing his appreciation for the courtesy and humanity of this young man.

"What about you? Any family besides Harry and Hermione?" Dean asked as they continued toward the destination.

"Oh, yeah there are loads of us. Mum and dad then Bill and Fleur, that's my oldest brother. He used to crack vaults in Egypt before all this started. Now him and his wife run a safe house for those on the run. Then there is my next brother Charlie, he works with dragons in Romania," Dean stopped in his tracks.

"Dragons? Like fire-breathing, flying lizards?" he questioned.

"Yeah - really nasty work. He's got all kinds of scars and burns but he says he loves 'em and loves the challenge. I think he is part nutter," they continued on, "I have another brother too, Percy. Then there are the twins, Fred and George. They're a riot- own a joke shop back home. Some real amazing stuff..." Ron paused for a moment lost in thought. He snapped back to after a few steps, "then me and my kid sister Ginny. Nine altogether, not counting extended Weasley's," he finished with a note of longing in his voice and Dean could sense the homesickness deep set in his heart. The more Dean learned about these kids, the more he wanted to protect them. He wasn't sure if it was how young they were, how much their world terrified him, or how much of Sammy he saw in all of them.

Harry who had had his whole world ripped from him before he was old enough to remember it; and had spent so much of his life chasing something normal only to have that continually smashed or pulled away. Hermione was a brainiac; kindred spirit to his brother. And just as devoted, even to the point of self-sacrifice. It hadn't been that long ago that Dean had watched Sam lindy into the pit, taking Lucifer with him - all to protect the world. And Ron - deeply devoted, loyal and a deep lover of the everyday. He knew that some of Sams fondest memories included the simplest things like a holiday meal. Ron seemed to be the same kind of person that found peace and happiness in a family dinner. But Sam never shied from doing what had to be done and neither did Ron, which is why he trudged through the dark in this foreign country, approaching a darker danger.

\o/o\o/

Sam and Hermione walked in silence to the old oak tree. Holding out her empty hand to stay Sam, she gave a complicated twist with her wand in hand and Sam saw a soft glowing of twinkling lights shimmer about knee high and fade into the grass. She continued walking, Sam by her side.

Nearly 20 minutes later they were about half a mile into town, past the diner and near the large ominous looking town square building. The town was eerily quiet, like the people could feel the danger thrumming through the streets. Hermione glanced around, looking for a dementor. Despite not seeing one, she shivered anyway.

They hadn't exchanged more that sideways glances and sudden stops; alert for anything out of the ordinary. As the approached the large old fashioned town square, two tall dark figures loomed under the cover of the trees on the far west corner. Even in the pleasant weather, they were clad head to toe in black and their eyes were on Sam and Hermione.

"That has to be them," Hermione said, knowing that Sam was looking in the same direction.

"Right," Sam mumbled calmly. He nonchalantly pulled his handgun from inside his waistband. Hermione calmly pulled her wand hand away from the folds of her robes. They continued on a straight path toward their attackers.

"Hold it right there," she heard an oily accent leak from the figure on the left. There was about 30 feet left between them and the air practically cracked and popped with tension.

"Who are you?" he drawled. Hermione remained stoic and the man on the left smiled a slow, sinister smile.

"Nice try sweetheart but we heard rumor of someone special in these parts. Hard to believe but worth a peek. And here we find a witch all fired..." and as the last few words oozed from his mouth, his left hand, which contained a stark white wand with long black streaks, flicked up and purplish blue light fired out. With an immediate swipe of her wand, Hermione deflected the shot and it hit the concrete a few yards away, crackling like lightning. The smile slid right off his face. Not waiting for any more words to drip from their lips, Hermione swung her wand around her head and swiped it hard toward the two men. They were caught unawares and barely deflected the shot getting knocked back a few inches.

Then began a deft display of flashes, smashes, swings and flicks as Hermione dueled with the two wizards. Sam stood a step or so to Hermione's left, looking for an open shot. After the first crack and sizzle of magic, Castiel and Harry had increased their speed and closed in on their friends.

Sam caught a movement to his left and four more bodies appeared practically out of no where and sprinted toward the ricochet of power. Sam instinctively shot off three shots. He watched one man crumple where he was. One of his companions, not even breaking stride hurled a green and sickly looking bolt of light toward Sam, who rolled behind Hermione just in time. He turned to watch the bolt smash into a tree, ripping it nearly in half.

Harry began to fire small spells that didn't require a great deal of wand movement out from under the cloak. Once Castiel was close to Hermione, he placed his hand on her shoulder. Arching under his touch, her eyes glowed, casting a soft blue shadow down her face. She kept flinging and deflecting but now her shots were stronger, brighter. When she blocked, the shots strayed further and further away.

From behind the city hall, Dean and Ron crept toward the spectacle with no witnesses in the town square.

"Weird that it's so empty," Dean observed. Ron's eyes found the group where five or six black clad figures were firing and blocking against Hermione and an unseen source of spellwork that Ron knew must be Harry. Dean glanced at Ron who nodded. They took off at a run to close the 50 yards between them and their friends. Dean took aim and carefully unloaded his clip, low and accurate into the black clothed men. After 16 shots, 3 of them froze, outlined in orange light from the spell they had just failed to deflect. Two of the men kept hurling and swiping at the illuminated Hermione while the other whipped around to face this new source of attack. As he turned, he fired off a red-yellow blast that winged Dean's right leg, causing him to stumble. His jeans burned and his thigh felt like it was boiling down to his toes. He stumbled again and went down as Ron kept up the sprint, desperately deflecting the shots sent his way and trying to cast a few of his own. Dean propped himself up and tried to take aim on the assailant but the pain was spreading up his leg now and the searing heat caused him to throw up.

When Sam had watched his brother go down, he had called out his name and headed toward him. One of the men casting against Hermione turned for a fraction of a moment to fling a silverly white bolt at Sam. He dove to avoid a straight connection but he felt the heat and power rippling across his back. Gun in the hand nearest his attacker, he thrummed his finger on the trigger, clearing about 4 shots. One sank straight between the eyes of his assailant. Sam saw him ark and fall, like an autumn leaf, to the ground. He scrabbled to his knees and tore off after his brother.

Ron, Hermione and Harry were desperately dueling with the two remaining men. The one facing Hermione was stronger but he began to show signs of frustration. After deflecting another shot from the hidden Harry, he growled in frustration and blasted a huge shot that doubled him over but had the effect he wanted. Hundreds of shards of black light flew toward Hermione and Harry. Hermione had time to throw up a wall in front of her and Castiel but Harry didn't get his wand swung around in time and the black shards sank into him. No one but Castiel saw him crumple to the ground.

The Death Eater still battling Ron had been edged backwards till only a few feet separated him from the back of his partner, who had recovered and was still matching Hermione spell for spell. With two of their companions down, Castiel poured a surge of energy into her. Th blue light in her eyes began to spark and then turned pure white. He vanished in a ruffle of feathers and appeared between the two attackers. He thrust his arms out, a hand colliding with the heads of each Death Eater. A glaring white and yellow light blasted from their faces, brightest from their eyes. And just as quickly as it had began, it was over.


	8. Chapter 8

_Various Clarifications. After_ _some_ _research I am picturing this story occurring between Lovegoods house and Malfoy Manor in the HP 'verse. I know that doesn't align 100% with weather descriptions - sorry.  
_

 _I haven't really hit any major SPN story plots yet. After researching, I think this would best fit somewhere in season 8 but I am not sure where to plug this in SPN 'verse and am open to input about what SPN events you would like to see play out.  
_

 _I am interested in feedback - I am contemplating the idea of altering some of the Deathly Hallows story line to include the brothers in the destruction of one of the horcruxes. Thoughts?_

\o/o\o/

Dean was still crumpled on the ground, stomach empty but eyes pouring from the pain. He felt like he was being boiled from the inside. Sam had made it to him and was desperately looking for a way to help. His head snapped up.

"CAS!" Castiel was already upon them, having headed toward them once the Death Eaters fell. He placed two fingers on Deans forehead and furrowed his brows in concentration. Dean went limp, eyes rolling into the back of his head but after a moment he snapped to, the sweat that had covered him from the spell drying on his healed skin. Sam helped his brother sit up.

"You are lucky that spell only grazed you - I was just able to heal it," Cas said seriously.

"Harry! Harry!" they looked a few feet away toward Ron who was shouting for Harry. He was wondering around near where the shots had been coming from, desperately searching for his friend. Cas hurried toward where Harry's still body laid. He slid the cloak off his face and pressed between his eyes as well, which fluttered back to consciousness and stared up at Castiel.

"Thanks," he mumbled. Ron sank down near his friend and was rubbing his own face with relief.

Castiel now turned toward Hermione. After the two Death Eaters had died, she sank to her knees, the white glow still coming from her eyes. It was dimming as she started to collapse into a heap. Cas kneeled behind her and let her head rest on his lap as she passed out, eyes closing softly, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Harry had sat up slowly but we he saw Hermione, he struggled to his feet with Rons help and they limped toward their friend.

Sam and Dean were also on their feet now, Dean looking a little shaky but okay. Sam was by his side step for step as they head toward the witch, the wizards, and the angel.

"Cas, what happened?" Sam asked with a concerned look on his face. They were all gathered around Hermione.

"She's fine - just sleeping. I simply amplified her strength, she feels like she had a hard days' work. She'll wake up in a few hours," Cas said gently pressing his hand to her forehead and smiling. Ron and Harry heaved a notable sigh of relief.

Ron strode over to one of the bodies. Lifting the sleeve of one with the toe of his shoe, the sick glow of a serpent twisting around a skull was visible.

"Death Eaters... all of them by the looks. Hopefully it takes them a while to figure out what happened here. We need to get rid of the bodies," he spoke loud enough for those around him to hear but not so loud that his voice echoed in the still town.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and smiled. "That is something we can handle."

\o/o\o/

The sun started to set as the tail lights of the Impala drove further and further from the small graveyard. Cas had taken Hermione to where they had parked the car. After arranging her in the back seat, he had driven back to the city hall building to collect the others. Dean settled behind the wheel while Sam, Ron and Harry stiffly piled in. People began moving around in the buildings to the left, preparing to head home from the looks of it. With a swift glance, Cas disappeared and reappeared several times, each time taking some of the bodies with him. Once they had all vanished, he returned alone.

"I took them to the old graveyard just off the highway about 30 minutes west of here," Cas said eyes squinting as people started to file out of the small buildings and head home. He had wedged into the back seat of the car with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Dean drove to the graveyard. It was tiny and old surrounded by large, even older trees. Taking the car over the bumpy terrain, deep enough into the forest to shield them from wandering eyes, they stopped at a small clearing. A pile of black cloaked bodies was laid near the edge of the clearing. Once they got out of the car, Dean started to gather shovels and picks from the trunk. Feeling more recovered from the fight, Harry turned toward the small clearing they had parked in and magicked a large deep hole into the ground. The brothers just stared dumbfounded as the 6 bodies glided down into the fresh hole, like they were hitched to puppet strings.

"Unreal," Dean said shaking his head in disbelief. Harry raised his wand to cover over the corpses when he and Sam both shouted, "Wait!"

Dean dug out an old metal container of lighter fluid while Sam grabbed a white cylinder. They poured gas and salt all around the bottom of the pit. Flicking an old lighter, Dean tossed the small flaming device into the hole and a bright fire roared to life at the bottom. They stood around the hole, watching the fire consume the evidence of their harrowing day. When nothing was left but smouldering ash, Ron magicked the soil neatly back over the hole, leaving the surface smooth.

"Let's get out of here," Harry said, exhaustion written all over his face. Without another word, they piled into the car. Hermione, who was still sound asleep, rested against the door behind Sam's seat. Cas, Harry and Ron piled in beside her, Castiel, laying his hand on her head again, checking on her.

They drove for hours, no on really saying much of anything until they were rolling through Ohio. Hermiones eyes fluttered and then slowly opened. She stared around her slowly, trying to make sense of her surroundings before she shifted her weight, catching the attention of everyone in the back seat.

"How are you feeling?" Cas asked, genuine concern on his face.

"Tired... but okay.. what, what happened?" she slurred out. Ron and Sam quickly filled her in on what had happened back in Greenwood, finishing with where they were headed.

"We are on our way home. Should be safe once we get there and we can all rest up," Sam said. Hermione smiled softly as her eye lids began to droop again. She re-positioned herself to stretch sore and tight muscles. Her head gently fell onto Castiels shoulder as she drifted off into sleep. He looked slowly down at her face and a soft protectiveness burned in his eyes.

\o/o\o/

The sun was starting to rise when they pulled up to their destination. The engine purred as Dean pulled up to a rickety looking black metal door. After pushing a small button on a green dial clipped to the ash tray, the doors creaked open and Dean pulled into a long dimly lit garage. There were various other vehicles and motor bikes scattered throughout the garage, all of them looked a little different and fairly old. Castiel roused Hermione who stumbled sleepily out of the car, stretching and yawning. Too tired and dirty to really appreciate where they were, the trio followed Sam, Dean and Castiel into the bunker. Dean flicked lights on as they clicked down a narrow white and black hallway leading into a clean, bright kitchen.

"We got more rooms in here than we need. That hallway to the right has some rooms where beds are made. You guys can pick whatever you like. There is a bathroom all the way to the end of that hallway and another all the way to the end of the left hall. Sam and I stay in the left hallway, first two doors you come to. And as you can see, this is the kitchen and you're welcome to anything in it," Dean explained as he waltzed toward the fridge, pulling a tall, cold brown bottle out and opening it with a quick twist.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry glanced at one another. Even after dozing all night in the car on the way there, they were still exhausted. But still they hesitated; it sounded so appealing to relax, take a hot shower, sleep on a bed. But at the same time, they had developed a wariness over the last several months that was hard to shake.

"This facility is guarded from every dark or magical force that the founders knew of, which is an extensive list. Please feel free to add any other enchantments that your want. We really just want to help," Cas explained sensing their unease and wanting to reassure them. Hermione reflected on that last 24 hours; she decided to venture on faith - faith in these three men, well almost men, that had risked their lives for innocents that would never know. They had taken in three bedraggled yet dangerous refugees, offering up all they had. She smiled, pulled out her wand and began pacing near entries that she could see, mumbling under her breath, careful to leave out muggle repelling charms so as not to baffle Sam and Dean. Harry and Ron mimicked her, pacing through the hallways nearest them.

In the time it took Dean to finish his beer and Sam to down one of his own, the three returned to the kitchen, content.

"There were already some enchantments laid. They are old but strong none the less. Seems we are not the first blood-born magicks to be here," Hermione explained, eyes heavy with sleep. Sam and Dean locked eyes, mentally noting to research the files when given the time.

"Thank you... for everything," Hermione said as she pulled two duffle bags from inside her small purse. She wearily handed one to each of her companions before shuffling out the door and into the hallway and into the first empty room on the right.

"I need a shower," Ron said as he shuffled out of the room.

"I need sleep," Harry chimed, gave a weary nod and headed to another empty room.

The brothers nodded in reply to the two as they exited. They sat there for another moment, thinking back over the last 24 hours that had completely reshaped their thinking.

"I would say this is one for the books, eh Sammy?" Dean drawled, pulling his feet off the table and strolling toward the door. Sam smiled wearily and followed his brother down the hall toward their rooms.

"God, am I wiped," Dean mumbled as he closed his bedroom door behind him.

Not needing sleep and not wanting to leave all the broken and weary souls taking refuge in the bunker, Castiel seated himself in one of the wood and green leather library chairs, content to watch over the stronghold as the morning sun shimmered through the highest windows, protecting the sleeping heroes.


	9. Chapter 9

Bodies started to rouse in the bunker slowly sometime after noon. Dean was the first to venture into the common area, heading through the library into the kitchen. He started slightly when he saw Castiel sitting serenely.

"Geez, man. Cough or something," he said, his heart hammering slightly in his chest.

"Sorry. I was trying to respect your rituals," Cas spoke slowly, knowing how grouchy Dean was before he had coffee, or something stronger, when waking up.

Dean was surprised that Cas was still here - something had been off about him lately. He was popping in and out randomly, never really staying very long. And even when he was here, Dean had a feeling he wasn't _all_ here.

Dean shook his head, continuing toward the kitchen. He wondered over to the coffee pot and just before firing it up, pulled the filter back out and put two more scoops of grounds inside and filled the carafe all the way up. Waiting for the coffee to perk, he looked around the empty kitchen, thinking of those still sleeping in the hall. Smiling despite himself, he went to the fridge, pulled out the eggs and fished through the freezer for some kind of meat. As he carried the supplies back toward the stove, he reached up into the cabinet and pulled out a box of dried potatoes, reading the instructions on the back as he fired up the burners. Despite the time of day, Dean could never turn down a good breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam ambled stiffly into the kitchen and stopped short, watching his brother stir a pan of scrambled eggs while another skillet sizzled full of sausage and another steamed covered with potatoes.

"Dean?" he questioned.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty. Breakfast/Lunch or _brunch_ is almost done," he said smiling over his shoulder, "Coffee's done."

Heading slowly for the coffee pot, Sam poured himself some. Rubbing his face gruffly, Sam ignored the pounding in his head. He took a slow sip of the hot beverage as he walked over to the stove to get a better look at his brothers creation.

"Feeling domestic after your nap?" he teased.

"Shut up. Get plates," Dean said as he flicked the heat off under the crispy sausage. He spun around and set the hot pan of eggs on the stainless steel counter. He quickly grabbed the other two pans and clunked them down on the island.

"Hey man, grab the bread off the shelf. I'll go get the kids," he said as he quickly headed to the hallway. Sam couldn't help but smile as his brother left the room- they had had a hard road of it lately. This was the happiest Sam had seen his brother since purgatory; even when they had happened into this place that they now called home, which hadn't been that long ago.

There was still an unspoken tension between the brothers, which they managed to stow for most jobs. Sam was still reeling from his brothers relationship with Benny, although recently there had been no mention of him. Not since Dean had used Amelia as a decoy to move Sam out of the picture while he helped that vampire. That had been the end of anything there could have been with Amelia, although Dean didn't know that. The loss Sam felt was still sharp, though he tried to bury it.

Then there was that mess in Shoshone. Although, Sam was dealing with it better than he had at first, he would be lying to say it hadn't left its mark. He slept less and his throat was always dry. Just how deep that mark went, he wasn't sure. But he knew that it had messed Dean up too. Dean; who had wanted to take that burden on himself. Who, Sam knew, would take the world on his shoulders so his brother didn't have to.

Coming up on the entry of the hallway, Dean stopped, unsure of how to wake them up without just barging in. So he hammered his arm on the wall at the end of the hall.

"Rise and shine, cupcakes! Chow's on!" he hollered down the hall. He heard the rustling of sock covered feet and one, two, then three doors opened with sleepy heads sticking out. Harrys hair was sticking up in a more random way than before, if that was even possible. Rons was sticking out in every direction, almost dry. Hermiones was brushed straight and shiny with water droplets still hanging off the ends. They looked so different; like normal teenage kids in jeans and t-shirts; not the seasoned fighters in soiled cloaks that they had been the day before.

Dean smiled.

"Come on, foods hot," he said and headed back into the kitchen leaving the kids to shuffle behind him.

Quietly they all filed into the kitchen, grabbing one of the mismatched plates from the stack that Sam had pulled out of the cabinet. Spoons scraped through the pans, jars of jelly were twisted open, hot coffee and cold orange juice filled porcelain cups and tall clear glasses. They crammed in around the white kitchen table, taking bites and slurps of the homemade meal.

"Fank 'u," Ron mumbled with his mouth half full of toast. Hermione and Harry nodded vigorously in assent. Dean smiled, satisfied as he nodded back at the kids.

"Don't mention it. I was hungry so I figured everyone else was," he said.

Just then Castiel strolled in and seated himself in the last remaining chair around the table, staring around.

"Hi, Cas," Hermione said brightly, grabbing another plate off the counter and holding it out to the angel.

"Hello," he said peacefully, taking and holding the empty plate. Hermione just stared at the angel, waiting for him to head toward the food.

"Angels don't eat. He just took the plate to be polite," Sam said smiling at the confused look on the trios face. Hermione blushed slightly as Cas smiled.

\o/o\o/

After their stomachs were full and the pans of food were empty, everyone pitched in to help clean the kitchen up. Holding cooling cups of coffee or half-full glasses of milk, they meandered out of the kitchen and settled into various chairs in the library.

"Thanks again," Hermione said, sipping from her mug. She couldn't help herself; her eyes roved hungrily over the spines of all the books in the library. Sam noticed her face and settled himself in the chair next to her.

"This is only a little bit," he said, the pride in his voice evident, "there are rooms and boxes full of files and memoirs and other texts and stories; things we haven't had a chance to touch yet." Hermione's eyes widen just a little bit more, craving the feel the parchment, thinking longingly of the familiar and comfortable Hogwarts library.

"There might be something here that could help you guys," Dean suggested. The trio exchanged nervous glances. While any chance to find something; anything about the horcruxes was needed, not only did they somewhat doubt it being here but they were nervous about the brothers getting to close to what they were hunting. Dean seemed to sense their anxiety.

"You guys are welcome to poke around; you don't need us to hold your hand. There might be something in there that helps," Sam suggested, wanting them to know they were trusted. Hermione looked pleadingly at Ron and Harry, who could practically see her buzzing with desire. Harry hesitated for a moment and then caved to the excitement of his friend and smiled. She practically leaped from her chair and bolted to the nearest shelf containing a book with familiar runes on the spine. She settled herself into the chair nearest the corner, already immersed in the text.

The others sat quietly for a moment.

"So what's next for you guys?" Dean asked. Harry and Ron glanced at one another before Harry sighed...


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry there have been so many slow paced chapters lately - I get so caught up in the relationship building pieces of these stories that I forget that I need to get some action in here to move the story along._

 _Thank you for all the feedback and reviews - it is really encouraging and gives me great food for thought._

 _I updated Chapter 9 slightly to add some more context for the SPN threads; no game changers but just some thought sequences._

 _Stay tuned for some exciting action chapters coming up!_

\o/o\o/

The next morning came too early. Hermione was the first one up. Despite the fact that she knew moving on with their journey was the right thing to do, she was going to deeply miss the safety of this place and the comfort of this make-shift family they had built in a few days. She dressed carefully, taking more time than she normally did putting up her hair and choosing her clothes. She was still the first one to enter the common area. The lights were still off and there didn't seem to be anyone around.

"Dean? Sam? Cas?" she called softly into the dark library. There was a soft rustle of feathers a few feet behind her and she whipped around to face Castiel, her heart hammering a little.

"Sorry," she mumbled but wasn't sure why.

"Why? I wanted to see you before you left.," he said stiffly.

"Where were you?" she questioned, wondering how she had heard him.

"Somewhere along the shore of the Galapagos, watching fish - it makes me feel peaceful," he said softly.

"You heard me from the Galapagos Islands?" she asked dumbfounded.

"I will always hear you, no matter where you are," he said softly. Hermione walked up to the angel. There were so many questions that she had about this world of demons and angels, about how he had channeled all that power through her, about the after effects that were randomly leaking out. But there were more urgent matters pressing on the forefront of her mind. As she looked up into the crystal blue eyes of the angel, she could not think of how to say or ask what she wanted, which was rare for her.

Castiel just smiled down at the young witch and, not for the first time, Hermione wondered if there was some psychic abilities in angels. Before she changed her mind, she threw her arms in a tight hug around the angel, hoping that it said everything she couldn't find the words for. Cas stood there for a moment, almost like he was in another place. But he returned the hug, resting his chin on her head and breathing in the smell of her hair.

A few moments later a door down the right side hallway of the bunker swung open and Ron came ambling out. He was staring at his shoes and managing his bag, so he didn't see Hermione quickly release the angel, leaving him looking confused. Ron smiled as he looked up and tapped on Harry's door as he passed by it.

"Ready for this?" he asked Hermione, showing that he too was sad about leaving the Winchesters. All she could manage was a jerky nod. Harry came out of his room, closing the door softly, resting his head against the wood. Although he never really had a home of his own, there was a handful of places where Harry felt safe. Hogwarts; the Burrow, and now this old little bunker in Kansas. He sighed deeply and walked to join his friends. They stared at one another, resigned to their task and hating it even more than they had before.

Cas, having learned from past mistakes not to flutter into the boys bedroom, walked down the left hand hallway, knocking on the boys doors. They heard a jerky rustling come from inside Deans room and the soft thud of feet hitting the floor hard in Sam's. Their doors opened in unison and the brothers blearly walked out.

"What time is it?" Sam mumbled sleepily.

"About 5 am," Hermione replied, "We wanted to start early, kind of make up for the time difference."

Dean scrunched his face together, willing his consciousness to shake the sleep and focus on the moment. He was still in his jeans and t-shirt from the night before. Sam was also in his day clothes, neither of them had broken that habit from the road since coming to the bunker. Although Sam rubbed his face sleepily, he looked drained, like he had hardly slept at all. Ron looked at him with a concerned face but he just smiled. Everyone stood there quietly for a moment, unsure of how to say goodbye.

"Oh! Oh!" Hermione said, startling everyone standing there as she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a large gold coin, "I almost forgot. I made this last night! It's a galleon - wizard money - but you can use it to get a hold of us if you need us," she explained handing the coin to Sam, who took it with a confused look. "Normally you would just a spell it and the twin coin that we have," she patted the pocket of her jacket, "would heat up. I changed it so if you hold it over a lighter or a match, it will stay cool and ours will heat up. If we need you, yours will heat up," she finished quietly, realizing that she had assumed they would want to see them again but had never really asked.

Dean smiled as Sam handed him the coin to hold. Rubbing his fingers over the engraved surface with words that had to be in Latin and a face he didn't recognize, he pulled another old silver lighter from his pocket. Flicking it, he held the coin by the edges and let the flame lick across the surface. Nothing happened to the coin in his hand but as Hermione pulled hers out, the brothers could see it softly glowing yellow. Sam touched the coin in her palm and smiled at the heat it gave off.

"That is so cool," Sam said, unable to hide the childlike glee he still had for small things like this.

It made Dean smile, to see that silly glimmer in his brothers heavy eyes. He pulled his wallet out of his jeans and slipped the coin carefully in a pocket where the leather was thinnest.

"Thanks, Hermione," and he held his arms out. She hugged him tightly, squeezing her eyes even tighter to keep them dry. All around hugs and hand shakes were shared between these people. Having known each other only a few days, the trust and ease they felt with one another was unusual. But until there was a reason, none of them questioned it, holding tightly to this small comforting memory, hoping to add to it... some day...

After a few more moments, the trio smiled wobbly smiles at the brothers. They joined eyes and started heading for the bunker door.

Dean chuckled, "What, no magic swoosh?"

"No, I put a ward over the bunker. Any apparating in or out will be very painful and leave some rather unpleasant marks," Hermione smiled, winking at the brothers. They reached the heavy metal door, heaved it open, and disappeared into the dark morning. As the door creaked slowly shut Dean, Sam and Cas heard the sharp crack that meant the trio was gone.

The three stood there for a long still moment, each wishing that those three kids hadn't left. Dean worried about them- almost as much as he worried about his brother. Sam wouldn't admit it but Dean knew that taking that dip in hell hound blood had knocked Sammy off his game. His little brother tried to hide it and play tough but Dean had seen this kid go through enough to know when he was fronting.

There was something unique that Sam missed about each of the trio. He missed Hermiones curiosity and he wished she could have stayed because he felt he could have learned so much from her. Harry reminded Sam so much of Dean - willing to take on the weight of the world to protect those he loved. That made him worry about Harry more than the others. Ron had brought a lightness and humor to their company - Charlie was really the only other person that made his brother laugh like that.

Castiel thought warmly of the soapy smelling brown hair of the young witch that carried a piece of him away; figuratively and literally.


	11. Chapter 11

_Since I have set this story in the timeline with Deathly Hallows and season 8, some of the events are going to be adjusted to make space for the other characters. This chapter is really the first example of that so I guess this is slightly AU- I am not 100% sure how that works but from this point on major events in the various story lines will be altered._

 _Also, I'm going to post 2 chapters, because I can't help it - you are just such lovely people. Also - I won't be able to update for the next three days (see how I sugared that up first :) ? )_

\o/o\o/

Just another job done. The brothers strolled into the bunker, dropping their bags as they went, exhausted from the hunt. They had been working jobs as they found them, here and there, to keep busy. Sam had been able to shake much of the effects of the Trials, when it had first happened. But it seemed that with each day that passed, whatever had taken hold of him that night was sinking in.

His sleep was more and more restless; he rarely slept more than a few hours at a time. He kept up the pretense of eating to keep his brother from asking questions but everything tasted awful and he had no appetite. He could tell he was loosing weight so he took to wearing more layers to try and hide it from Dean.

Just this once, he wanted to pull it off. He wanted to come through for his brother. I mean - closing the gates of hell! That was more than a game changer. He just hoped he lived long enough to see it through.

Nearly a month had passed since the trio had vanished into that early January morning. Sam and Dean hadn't heard a word from them and they tried to convince themselves that was the best news. Cas was also becoming more distant, like he was distracted by something the brothers couldn't see. And meanwhile, Sam and Dean continued to plug away at this life of theirs, waiting for Kevin to decipher the rest of the demon tablet so that Sam could slam the gates of hell shut.

They had taken some time to dig through the lore that the Men of Letters had on blood-born, or high magic. Hermione was right - there had been other witches and wizards here before. Some of the Men of Letters had worked with various witches and wizards in their time. The brothers were pleasantly surprised to see Dumbledores name in the files; the trio had spoken fondly of their former mentor and headmaster. It seems he had taught the Men of the Letters a great deal about the warding magic that was wrapped around the bunker.

The brothers sat in the half lit kitchen, taking sips from their bottles, when a huge echoing crack sounded through the bunker. Their eyes connected, remembering the last time they had heard that sound and the anti-apparation spells Hermione had put up. Standing slowly, they each quietly drew their guns, cocking them softly. As they crept through the dark library to the atrium at the other end of the bunker, there was another loud crack, followed by screaming.

"HELP! SAM! DEAN! CAS!" It was Ron. Forgetting any caution, Sam and Dean tore through the remainder of the library, spilling into the atrium. In a heap at the foot of the metal stairs laid Hermione, looking like she had been beat to death. Her arm was pouring blood, she was pale and there were deep purple contusion marks blossoming across her skin. Ron was soaked in sweat and looked scared out of his wits, cradling his damaged friend in his arms. In Harry's arms was a small wrinkly creature with a long nose and huge, batlike ears. There was dark purple blood spreading across its sweater, oozing from beneath the hilt of a foul looking knife. Racked with sobs, Harry was cradling this small, broken creature, his tears splashing onto its skin.

The brothers rushed to the side of their young friends, crashing to their knees. Sam and Dean had hardly registered the three figures that were standing a few feet behind the trio- a man that seemed impossibly old and looked as though he were starving and homeless, a young girl with luminous eyes and cascades of white-blonde hair, streaked with dirt and blood, and another strange creature that looked like something between an imp and a troll.

"Dean... Sam..." Ron looked up at the brothers, tears streaking his face as he pushed the wet hair off Hermione's face; she didn't even flinch.

"What happened?" Sam asked, panicked at feeling her pale skin.

"We... we got caught and... I don't know what they did to her... she was up there for hours," his voice cracked as he finished, looking back at his damaged friend in his arms.

Dean's eyes were tight with concern and panic. He knelt by his brother, feeling Hermione's face. Sam had ripped part of his plaid shirt off and was trying to tourniquet her arm to stem the flow of blood.

"CAS!" Sam shouted. Nothing happened.

"CAS!" Dean echoed and still nothing happened, "CASTIEL, GET DOWN HERE! IT IS HERMIONE!" he bellowed, fed up with this half-on, half-off crap with Cas. A few seconds later Cas appeared. He still had that hazy far away look that he had been sporting the last few weeks but he seemed to be trying to fight it; to see what was happening.

"What happened?" his voice ground out.

"She - she was tortured. Cruciatous curse. And... and Bellatrix stabbed her with something on her arm," Ron was trying to explain everything to the angel. As he took her arm, he rubbed his hand over it to wipe some of the blood away. Suddenly visible were crudely carved gouges still spilling blood. They spelled out the word "Mudblood".

Cas furrowed his brows tightly, closing his eyes, he placed his fingers on Hermiones' forehead. After a few seconds, he spread his hand, placing his palm and fingers across the top of her head. No one moved for several moments. But nothing happened - she kept bleeding, some of the purple marks were turning blue and green, and her breathing was still irregular.

"It's not working," Cas said, looking alarmed.

"What - what do you mean, "It's not working?" Dean pried, angrily.

"I mean, this is damage from dark blood-born magic. It's old and deep. I cannot heal it," without asking or continuing, Castiel scooped the small, broken witch into his arms and sped to the kitchen laying her body across the empty island.

Castiel worked feverishly to patch and bandage Hermione, fluttering in and out returning with herbs, oils; anything he could think of to staunch the flow of blood and heal her body. The whole time he worked, a soft blue glow came to his eyes and Hermiones eyes fluttered rapidly under closed lids. Eventually the blood stopped pouring and started to clot. She coughed hard several times, eyes slowly opening. She saw Castiel, smiled, and then faded back into the black. Her breathing leveled and the bruises stopped darkening, although they didn't go away. Castiel had finally stilled, standing like a statue near her feet, eyes never leaving her face, still glowing soft blue.

"I've done all there is to do. She is stable and resting," he spoke without moving. Everyone had been standing breathless in the doorway, watching the angel work. They all remembered to breathe when he spoke.

"What the heck happened?" Dean said in a low, gritty voice, looking at Harry, who was still cradling the corpse of the small wrinkled creature.

\o/o\o/

Sam had brewed some strong tea and passed steaming cups out to the bloody, defeated looking guests. Dean brought Harry a clean white sheet so he could wrap the small broken body up neatly. Sam and Dean held their empty hands clasped together, over their knees, leaning forward, listening to the tale. Harry, Ron and the blonde, slightly odd girl explained what had happened. The girl introduced herself as Luna, the old man as Ollivander and the small surly looking creature as Griphook, a goblin. She had been in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor with Ollivander for months.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione had slipped up with the taboo and gotten snatched. Hermione had tried to hide who Harry was with a jinx but it hadn't worked. They had been dragged to Malfoy Manor, where some of Voldemorts most loyal had been, including Bellatrix Lestrange. She had freaked out when she saw one of the Snatchers with this sword they had pulled from Hermione's bag. Throwing Ron and Harry into the dungeon, she had tortured Hermione for information... for hours. After screaming and trying to escape the entire time, Harry had desperately looked into this scrap of mirror that he carried in his sock. It had helped him before and he was out of his mind from hearing Hermione scream.

That was when Dobby had appeared; they looked sadly to the small body under the white sheet. He had been a friend of Harry's for years and, since elf magic was different than wizard magic, he had been able to get them out of the charmed dungeon, and past Hermione's wards into the bunker. But not before Bellatrix had hurled her knife, end over end, after them. It had sunk deep into their saviors chest as they'd apparated out.

Harry had told Dobby to bring them here, unable to think of anywhere else to go. He had brought Luna and Ollivander ahead and they had been able to magic Griphook, another captive from that night, out with the trio.

Dean and Sam sat in silence, absorbing the information, having a hard time processing everything that had happened.

"I'm sorry for..." Harry began. Dean held up him hand with his eyes shut.

"You don't need to say anything. You did the right thing. Even if they track you here, we're ready," Dean reassured them.

"They can't track us here - you can't follow elf magic. He saved us - in more than one way," Ron said heavily.

"We need to bury him," Harry said hoarsely, "Properly, without magic." Sam nodded and shuffled toward the closet in the kitchen to collect the tools they needed.


	12. Chapter 12

After buring Dobby - by hand, Harry sat streaked in blood and dirt by his grave for a long time. When he finally returned, he seemed to have dropped all thought of hiding anything from the brothers. He questioned Ollivander about something called the Deathly Hallows - mostly about an elder wand that was supposedly unbeatable, which made the brothers think that just painted a big red target over it. Then he questioned the goblin about Bellatrixs' vault; about what could possibly be in it that would make Bellatrix react the way she had when she thought that some one had been in it. The goblin wasn't very forthcoming with information, he seemed to very intrigued by the sword that had lain where harry had dropped it at the bottom of the stairs in the bunker.

After the brief conversations everyone in the room fell quiet. No one wanted to leave Hermione's side; they all dozed in their chairs or sprawled on the table in front of them. The morning passed, as did the day. It was beginning to get dark when the young girls' eyelids slowly opened. She glanced around her for a moment, every inch of her body sore and aching; especially her left arm. As she turned her head sideways to see the heavy bandages, Castiel stepped quickly forward to stand by her side.

"How are you?" he asked concern written all over his face.

"Mmmm," and a weak smile was all she could manage. It seemed to be enough for Cas and he smiled, still seeming far away but looking content. Dean roused when he head Cas' voice and walked slowly into the kitchen. Hermione's eyes floated toward the oldest Winchester and she managed another smile.

"Hey kiddo - good to see you," he smiled softly. One by one the others asleep in the library woke to the sounds of the voices. They came in, relief washing across their face when they saw Hermione, weary looking but awake.

"I'll watch over her," Castiel said, still looking down at her. Sam and Dean exchanged a look that dripped with doubt; which Harry caught, his brows furrowed. What had happened between the angel and the brothers to sow these seeds of discord? But eventually they nodded in assent to Castiels offer.

"I think you all best rest," Sam said looking at the tired bodies in the kitchen. Ron eyed the goblin cautiously and Sam made a mental note to be sure his room was near the brothers - just in case. Slowly, they all nodded in agreement with Sam and he quietly led them out of the room, toward the hallway. Harry and Ron returned to the same rooms they had had weeks before. They were just as they had been then. Sam walked carefully passed the door that belonged to Hermione; Luna and Ollivander were shown to the two remaining room in that hall. Sam led Griphook to the first room beyond his, across from Deans.

Dean waited in the kitchen with Hermione and the angel. Hermione was maintaining consciousness, just barely. The arm that wasn't wounded started to reach for her jacket pocket. Dean, interpreting her gesture, moved toward her.

"Hun, what do you need? Let me get it."

"Bag... dittany... healing," she spoke in soft fragments. Reaching into her jacket pocket, he pulled out the small beaded bag that started it all. The word dittany sounded familiar and suddenly the distant memory of opening the minty smelling bottle came to his mind. He carefully opened the bag, holding it under one of the kitchen lights. He looked inside until he saw a cluster of bottles. Reaching in, he pawed for that palm size, angular bottle. He pulled it out and unstoppered it, leaning over Hermione.

Her smile got a little stronger, "Not... me... others," even in her damaged state, she was concerned about her friends; Dean smiled, walking toward the hallway, carrying the little bottle ready to heal the wounds of those that Hermione loved.

Castiel had carried Hermione to her room once everyone else had settled into theirs. He had arranged her comfortably on her bed and then retreated to the arm chair in the shadowy corner. During this trip, she had stirred only when lifted, after which she rested her head against Castiel and drifted back off.

The visitors, weary in body and soul, slept through the night, waking the next morning to the smell of bacon. Although Dean had only done it once before, making breakfast didn't seem like a bad habit to start. On the last few supply runs, he had even made sure to stock up on various breakfast things; just in case. Ron was the first to trudge wearily into the kitchen. His skin was still pale; paler than was normal - even for him. He had changed his clothes and washed up but sorrow and pain were still etched into the lines already on his young face. Dean smiled at him as he came in and Ron returned it genuinely as he walked towards the hot coffee pot. He was still watching Dean crack eggs, neither really needing to talk, when Harry came in. He was still mourning Dobby, his face still carrying that crumpled look. Following Ron's example, he poured a cup of coffee and settled at the counter.

After a few more minutes, the others drifted in, Luna and Ollivander walking together. The girl was helping support the old man as he shuffled along. They were chatting about who knows what as they ambled into the silent kitchen. Harry smiled - Luna had a knack for seeing the best in any situation, for bringing a special presence into the room with her. It made her pleasant to be around; once you got used to the interesting conversation and far-off staring.

"Ahh my - coffee! It has been a long time," the old man said with longing and enthusiasm in his voice. Leaving the scrambled eggs to cook on the stove, Dean twisted around, poured a tall cup for Ollivander and set it next to the milk on the counter. He shuffled to the chair nearest the door, next to Harry, eyeing the cup like a pot of gold. Delicately he poured a splash of milk in, watching the black liquid take on a creamy amber color. He slowly sipped the steaming cup and sighed with contentment. Dean raised his eyebrows toward Luna, holding up an empty cup.

"I've never had coffee but yes thank you, I think something hot would be lovely," her voice soft and airy in reply. Dean poured a smaller cup and grabbed the sugar jar as he set both down on the counter. Luna experimentally sipped the dark liquid and crinkled her nose, after which she poured in a healthy amount of milk and several scoops of sugar. The second sip brought a cheerful smile to her lips.

"That is lovely."

Dean smiled despite himself. Here was another kid from this world that scared him more than he would ever admit - a kid who he had known less time than people he'd killed. But he already liked her, felt protective of her, wanted her to be happy, to be safe. Maybe he was getting soft as he got old...

A few minutes later the food was all finished. Ron had already gone to the cabinets to get plates. Looking around, Dean realized who was missing and quickly skipped out to collect the remaining members of their party.

As he came up on his brothers door, he heard deep throaty coughing. For several moments he stood listening as the hacking did not relent. Finally, he slammed on Sammy's door.

"Breakfast!" he heard his brother choke back a cough to reply. Dean rolled his eyes as he walked on to the goblins door. Did goblins eat? Did he want to eat? Should Dean knock? he hesitated for a moment before knocking, more politely on Griphooks door.

"Yes?" he heard the goblins deep voice from deep in the room. Taking that as a sign, he opened the door. The swarthy little creature was sitting on the bed, leaning against the pillows, looking at Dean.

"Umm... there is some food in the kitchen - eggs and stuff - if..." Dean stopped without finishing, gesturing through the door.

"Thank you. I am still very sore. Perhaps I will eat later," he spoke firmly without a smile. Dean didn't press the subject, despite his own misgivings about the goblin. He just nodded and closed the door. He took a deep breath as he headed for Hermione's room, bracing himself to see the shattered girl.

He didn't knock, he just softly pushed the door open. The small lamp on the chest of drawers furthest from the bed was on very low and Dean could see the tips of black shoes and the edge of a tan trench coat. He was surprised, but relieved, that Castiel was still here watching over her. She was laid carefully in the bed, with the top sheet pulled over her. She had the same clothes on as yesterday, her shoes and jacket laid on the nightstand near her. Cas had cleaned her as he healed her. Hermione looked peaceful on the bed, sleeping softly, chest falling and rising in a smooth, even rhythm. Dean just stared at her for a moment, content in the serenity of the moment. It took him a moment to notice that the bruises that had been a flaming and vibrant purple not long ago had faded to an angry brown color. Relief washed over him; apparently Cas had finally found something or gotten through somehow and helped a little bit.

Cas stood when Dean had opened the door.

"Hey man, do you think she could eat?" Dean spoke softly.

"I think she will need sustenance," Cas was an angel and his speech had always been a little archaic but here was another example of how he had distanced himself; it had been a while since Cas had been that distant. Dean just nodded and he proceeded toward the bed.

"Let me," and Cas brushed pass him. He gently rubbed her face and she woke. He picked her up gently, cradling her softly and turned to follow Dean. Dean had never seen him so tender and careful towards anything; it gave him more hope for his friend than he had had in a long time.

Sam had made it to the kitchen and when Cas, Dean and Hermione arrived, everyone was filling plates. With everything that the guests had been through in the last few days, it wasn't possible for there to be a joyful air. But the feeling of the room was content and peaceful; just the healing they needed. However, when they saw Hermione, eyes open and smiling, come in in Castiels' arms, everyone smiled and the mood lightened that much more.


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry that the length of this one got away from me but I figured I hadn't been able to post in a few days so you wouldn't be too sad :)_

 _Again, this is where this story is going to start shifting from cannon is some pretty big ways._

\o/o\o/

It was the next day before Hermione was able to move about on her own. Even then, it was supported by Castiel, who never left her side. He was always there, anticipating what she would need. And she smiled at him in a way that said more than words.

Harry and Ron had filled her in on the information Griphook and Ollivander had given them. Feeling even more connected to the Winchesters, since they had provided safe haven in a time of need more than once, Hermione had insisted on filling the brothers in. She hadn't had to fight very hard; Ron and Harry were eager for a fresh take.

After Hermione put warding charms around the kitchen, just in case Luna, Ollivander, or Griphook wondered in, the trio told their whole story to the brothers. They talked about Dumbledore- who he was, what he had meant to them, how he had died, and the quest he had left them. They told them everything they knew about the horcruxes - what they were, why they existed, the memories that Dumbledore had shared with him from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's past, the ones they had found so far, what they knew about destroying them, and what they suspected about the Lestranges' vault.

Old habits died hard - Sam and Dean scribbled notes, names, dates as Harry, Ron, ad Hermione talked. They sketched small pictures, checking them with the trio. When the tale was over, Sam and Dean started spreading the information across the table, adding notes and questions here and there. The trio watched carefully, seeing connections form between different ideas, some that they hadn't seen before.

"How do you know to do all this?" Ron asked, intrigued by the thought process of the brothers.

"This is what we do. Bits of weird information here and there; we collect it to look for patterns, to fill in holes. It is easier to see everything spread out," Sam explained, looking at the trio.

The next few hours passed with questions, more notes, and clicking laptops, which Ron stared in awe at.

"We need to keep this between us," Harry said, eyeing Castiel who had remained near Hermione but unusually quiet "We trust Luna but the more she knows, the more danger she is in. Griphook can't know anything; goblins often have their own agendas. And Ollivander is old, he doesn't need dragged into this." Sam and Dean nodded in agreement, sorting the information into careful stacks.

"Put this downstairs - behind the shelf in that weird yellow room," Dean said to Sammy. He nodded and grabbed the files, heading out. Dean watched him go, deep concern written on his face.

"What is wrong with Sam?" Hermione asked softly. Dean had gleaned enough from Ron and Harry to learn that Hermione had been under the Criciatous Curse, at least. It was a torture spell that ripped at your mind and body like a thousand hot knives, Harry said. But obviously there had been more because that spell usually left no marks. However, her strength seemed to be returning faster and faster. She had stayed with them during the conversation, even if she was quieter than normal. Her look of concern matched Harry and Ron, who now turned to Dean.

"He seems.. sick. But really sick," Ron said. Dean sighed deeply. The trio had shared with the brothers their journey; shared with them information their own family didn't know. Dean understood the risk they had taken in doing so. He decided to venture out on the same limb they had branched onto.

"He is really sick... See, we are trying to close the gates of hell," he began and the next half hour was spent telling the kids about Crowley, and Kevin, about the tablets and the trials. Sam had returned about 10 minutes into the conversation, adding information here and there.

"Ever since that first trial, Sammy here has been having a go of it. Seems they take a lot out of you," Dean smiled, thumping his brother on the back. It was the first time Dean had told Sam he knew there was something wrong. Sam's face tightened, wondering just how much his brother knew... or guessed.

"It is taking a lot out of you Sam. There seems to be something different about that even I can't touch - something on a molecular level. It is peculiar," Castiel chimed in, speaking for the first time in hours. Sam turned slowly to face the angel, wanting to hurl something heavy at him. Deans face had tightened as he spoke and he looked at his brother with a mixture of pity, fear, and anger.

"Dean, I'm fine," Sam replied stoically, staring at the table.

"Sammy, come one man. You can't say you're fine! On a freakin "molecular level" Dean barked, rubbing his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Sam - you can be brave, determined, and right - but you are not "fine". It's okay to admit that," Hermione spoke gently, placing her frail, bruise-streaked hand on Sams arm. He stared at her; he knew she was speaking from somewhere deep inside her, sharing something that she had learned for herself; maybe just recently.

He smiled as his resolve crumbled.

"I'm not fine - but I am gonna see this through - no matter what," he said, placing his hand over hers, staring up at his brother firmly.

\o/o\o/

Hermione healed slowly over the next few days. The bruises started to fade and still Castiel did not leave her - he watched over her every minute of the day. At first, it had been a quiet and attentive relationship, the angel guarding over the young witch. But as Hermione healed and her strength returned, they could be found deep in conversation. Sometimes nestled in a corner of the library, with Hermione sipping tea. Sometimes in her room, with her curled up on her bed and Castiel sitting near her in his chair. He told her stories - about when he was young, about some of the wonders he had seen. She listened, smiling and laughing and asking questions. Sometimes she would talk about her life - growing up as a muggle and then learning she was a witch. She would talk about her dreams for days when they didn't live in this darkness. It was more than the brothers had seen Castiel talk in a long time; it was really one of the first times they had seen him grow a relationships with anyone that way. Maybe it was because of their connection from that first fight in Greenwood; or maybe it was because she was the first person in a long time that seemed to want to hear his stories.

The day after the brothers and the trio had shared their quests, Ron had taken Luna and Ollivander to a safe house back in England; Shell Cottage - where his brother Bill and his wife, Fleur, lived. It would be safe for them there. Griphook stayed at the bunker, rarely leaving his room except for food.

Sam and Dean helped the kids research and plan. Since talking to Griphook, Harry had been formulating a plan. He shared it with them after Ron returned. At first, it had seemed wildly impossible. But a day or two later; they all started to put their heads together working on it. Maybe it was because they had gathered enough information to make it seem possible or maybe it was because they couldn't see any other options.

They were going to break into Gringotts.

\o/o\o/

On the fourth day of their furlough, Castiel disappeared. Hermione had ambled out to breakfast alone, alarming Dean who felt she still looked far too shaky on her feet.

"Where is he?" Dean snapped.

"He had to... leave. A few hours ago. He said goodbye and he would see me soon," she smiled contentedly up at the eldest Winchester who was pulling out a chair for her. Dean worried about Castiel and Hermione - normally he would have gone to bat for that wayward angel; he was like a brother to Sam and Dean. But lately he had been really distant - the last time this had happened, it hadn't ended well for Castiel. He couldn't stand the idea of Hermione getting hurt... again.

"Awesome," he replied.

"Alright man, thanks. Yeah. Uh huh, bye," Dean heard his brothers voice grow louder as he walked through the library to the kitchen. Entering the light, Sam clicked off his cell phone.

"We got a case," Sam replied. Dean looked at him curiously, "Tony called, says it has popped up in a couple states, most recent here in Kansas..." Sam dove into the details of the case, with Hermione listening quietly.

"Well, it sounds like us but..." Dean finished, his eyes flicking to Hermione.

"Dean, go. This is something you guys need to do. We will be fine - and we won't leave till you get back," she said.

Later that afternoon, the brothers hopped into the Impala in their Fed suits, headed out to solve this case as fast as they could.

\o/o\o/

Things had quickly gone from weird to weirder to completely screwed up. Sam and Dean had figured out pretty quickly that it was demonic. The first big hit had been when Cas showed up at the house of the woman they were interviewing, right after three demons had strolled in the door. He had snapped during the interrogation of the demon that had smoked into the curler clad woman, plunging his angel blade into her. But not before they learned that the demons were hunting through Lucifer's long abandoned crypts for something. Castiel said it had to be this parchment that made decoding the tablets of God's word easier. They had also learned that Crowley was heading up the hunt and he had a "special hostage" that was currently penned up in the motel on the edge of town. That night they had crept to the hotel and barreled in, guns blazing. Crowley hadn't been there - just two low level flunky demons that Sam and Dean had ganked quickly. Afterwards they had found none other than Meg, beaten and bloody, on the bathroom floor.

The Winchesters' history with this particular demon was complicated. She had been a loyal supporter of the yellow-eyed demon Azazeal, who had murdered Sam and Dean's mother, throwing them head first into this life at a tender young age. She had done a great many awful things in his name, including torturing the brothers. When the apocalypse had started, she had also been a big supporter of Lucifer. But that had gone south and since then, although still a demon through and through, she had performed some less evil tasks. She had watched over Castiel after he had taken on Sams' hell-driven insanity. She had helped them ice the levithans. But after that, the brothers had lost track of her. It was that very day, that day she had served as levithan bait, that Crowley had sunk his meat hooks into her. Ever since then she had been at his vindictive, sadistic mercy.

Castiel also shared a unique relationship with the demon, which included a rather intense kiss and months of care. She had been one of the only things stable when his mind had collapsed under the madness that he took on from Sam, that he had brought on the youngest Winchester after breaking the wall in his mind that held it back.

Meg was the one giving the demons the whereabouts of Lucifers' crypts, which she had visited with Yellow-Eyes. However, out of self-preservation, she played dumb only giving them rough directions. It left them to dig out the details, making the work slow. Crowley had just managed to find another one. Meg let drop that he was breaking into crypts in search of the angel tablet. Dean and Sam were shocked. Castiel looked irritated before feigning ignorance, which raised the brothers already bubbling suspicions.

So this ragtag band; the angel, the demon, the brother under the trials and the one who had survived purgatory and hell, headed to the crypt to head off Crowley.


	14. Chapter 14

_So the weekend is here and that means - updates! I have had this ready for a minute now and was just trying to hold off on posting till I had more written but I love it so much - I can't wait any more!_

\o/o\o/

"All right, Cas and I will head in and get our Indiana Jones on. Sam, you stay outside with Meg," Dean said, as he checked the various weapons stowed on his person.

"What?!" Sam immediately started to argue.

"We got this," Dean looked sternly at this brother.

"What are you talking about, Dean? I'm not letting you go in there alone."

"He won't be alone," Castiel said. Dean would have been lying to say this was reassuring.

"Listen, Meg can hang here, watch our backs. I'm..." Sam started again.

"Oh, what? Now you trust Meg?" Dean asked, faced crumpled in doubt.

"Hey, I got you this far," the short demon protested.

"Shut up," both brothers chimed abruptly.

"Sam, we have been through this. I saw your bloody rag in the trash can - I know you aren't eating and you look like a walking Skeletor. You have been off your game since the first trial."

Sams face tightened but he didn't say anything.

"Trial?" Meg asked curiously.

"Shut up, Meg!" the brothers barked again.

"Listen, I got Cas. I'll be fine," Dean said.

"Dean, I'm telling you - I'm okay," Sam tried one last time.

"No, Sam... you're not," this time it was Castiel who spoke, looking at Sam. At least, his eyes were on Sam but he seemed to be looking through him. He was distant but again, "Stay here and guard Meg."

"Since when do I need protecting?" she snapped.

"Since you were held captive and tortured for over a year," Cas said seriously, leveling a deeply protective stare at the demon girl.

"Touché."

"All right, we'll be back," and with that Dean and Castiel headed into the dark damp warehouse.

As the angel and Dean searched for the crypt and whatever lay in side, Sam and Meg holed up in a corner of the warehouse where they could keep an eye out. Meg made several attempts at conversation with the youngest Winchester. Although he responded, he was guarded. She was a demon after all. She prodded about the trials. Again, Sam was vague in his replies.

"Come on, Sammy, I spent time in that walking corpse of yours. I know your sad, little thoughts and feelings," she taunted.

"That's creepy."

"Here's what I remember. Deep down, in parts you never let see the light of day, you want to live a long, normal life away from creepy old things like me," she persisted.

"I do," he smiled "You know, I spent last year with... someone, and, um... ...now I know that's actually possible."

"Wait - that's how you spent your last year? With a chick? Lame," she teased. Sam stopped talking.

"What was her name? You don't even trust me with a name? Cut me, do I not bleed, Sam? So, some chick actually got you off hunting, huh? That's one rare creature. Tell me - how'd you meet this unicorn?" and there was a seriousness in her tone that drew Sam's eyes back to her.

\o/o\o/

Meanwhile, Dean and Cas were deep in the warehouse. They came across a low dank room that was different from the others around it. As the two entered it, they could see that it was littered parchments, jewels, and other oddly shaped objects. As they searched the crypt Dean kept a sideways eye on Cas. It was evident in his eyes that Cas was phasing in and out of the moment, going from that cloudy faraway stare to clear and focused and then back through the cycle again. Suddenly his voice rang out from a few yards away.

"Dean... That's it," Cas said shining his flashlight on a carved, wooden chest.

"How do you know?"

"It's the only thing in here warded against angels," Cas spoke matter of factly.

Dean opened the rough wooden chest and lifted a heavy solid looking piece of stone out of the chest. A large, relieved smile played across his face.

"Good. Hand it to me, and I'll take it to heaven," Castiel extended his hand.

"No, we will take it to Kevin so he can translate it," Dean spoke cautiously.

"Right. Of course. I'll take it to him right away. No time to waste," Castiel prattled off without hesitating.

"Well, he's not that far. I've been meaning to... go check on him, bring him some supplies," Dean spoke slowly as he backed a step or two away from the angel. Cas got that faraway, glazed look for a moment or so.

"I can resupply the Prophet, Dean," he chimed, seeming to land back in his brain.

"You know, why don't, uh, why don't Sam and I take it over to him, and you can get back to your mission?" Dean said, taking another step back.

"I can't let you take that, Dean," Cas said firmly, stepping close to Dean.

"Can't or won't?"

"Both," Cas leveled a crippling gaze at Dean. Then he faded again, looking at Dean but somehow through him also. Dean hesitated, unsure of whether or not he should make a break for it.

Cas sank back, eyes blinking and suddenly his angel blade was in his hand.

"Cas. Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this," Dean pleaded suddenly alarmed. Cas lunged toward Dean. In defense, Dean held the stone up to block the angels blow.

"Cas, fight this! This is not you! Fight it!" The angel lunged again, Dean blocking him with the tablet again.

"What have you done to me, Naomi?" Castiel choked out, arm shaking, poised for another strike.

"Who's Naomi?!" Dean yelled, looking even more alarmed. Cas landed a hard backhand across Deans face, sending him flying into the wall to his left. Cradling the tablet, Dean attempted to stand up. Castiel lunged toward him, that glazed smoky look in his eyes. Raising his hand holding the blade, he punched Dean again and again. In an attempt to guard himself, Dean dropped the stone, the tablet falling out of the rock as it cracked on the crypt floor.

"Cas!" he moaned in pain. "I know you can hear me, Cas... It's me... Dean!" Dean stuck his arm out to try and wake Cas from the daze he was in. The angel grabbed his arm and jerked it sharply, a sickening crack echoing through the crypt, accompanied by Dean's gasp of pain. As Cas gripped his broken arm, he again froze looking through Dean. Eyes watering, Dean fumbled in his jacket pocket for his lighter. Thinking as fast as he could, he flicked the lighter and held it to his back pocket, praying beyond reason that Hermione had her coin. He heard the sizzle of leather and the smell of burning denim filled his nose. Doubt crept into Dean's heart as moments passed.

Suddenly a loud crack echoed through the crypt and a tiny looking witch appeared inches from Dean and Cas. She was barefoot, in pajama pants and a large t-shirt, clutching the faintly glowing coin in both her hands. Taking in the scene, panic filled her eyes. Gulping a deep calming breath, she stepped toward them.

"Castiel?" her voice was soft but clear. His eyes cleared and he blinked several times.

"Hermione," he spoke hoarsely, acutely aware of Dean's broken bones in his hand and the mans blood smeared across his knuckles. "Why are you here?" his voice was soft, almost ashamed.

"Castiel, let him go. Come with me. We can talk," she stepped toward the angel, never taking her eyes off his face.

"Hermione, please leave. You should not be here," Castiel spoke clearly.

"Neither should you," she said and there was only pity in her eyes. Castiel faded again, eyes looking passed Hermione. The witch glanced at the bloodied Winchester. He drug his eyes down toward the tablet laying at his knees, a few feet from her, hoping she understood. Nodding slightly, Hermione slowly bent at the knees and plucked the tablet from the rocks.

As soon as the stone hit her skin, her eyes flared blue. Her hair splayed around her face like a halo, her skin emitting a soft white glow. In the same breath, Castiel's entire body arched and yellow-white light glowed from every inch of him. For a few moments, the two glowed in unison, feet from each other, arched as some unseen power surged through them and poured out in the brilliant light. Suddenly, if faded. Both Hermione and Castiel slumped to a kneeling position breathing hard. The angel looked up at the young witch.

"Thank you."

Reaching out two fingers, Castiel healed the bruised and bloody Dean. The three of them knelt in silence for a long moment in that crypt.

\o/o\o/

In the warehouse above the witch, the angel, and the Winchester, Sam and Meg were dealing with a fight all their own. Demons had appeared and they were fighting to keep them from entering the larger warehouse beyond. After the fourth demon fell, a thick oily accent crooned through the darkened door.

"Hello, moose. Whore," and in sauntered a stocky dark haired man clad in a long black coat.

"Crowley," Sam growled.

"I'm here for the stone with the funny scribbles on it," he chimed casually.

"That's not gonna happen," Sam said darkly.

"Love it when you get all tough. Touches me right where my bathing suit goes," Crowley purred.

"Go. Save your brother... and my unicorn," Meg said smoothly over her shoulder as she stepped in front of the door, a blade in her hand. Squaring off against the King of Hell, she smiled as Sam tore into the warehouse.

\o/o\o/

"So, this "Naomi" has been controlling you since she got you out of Purgatory?" Once the three had taken several deep breaths, Dean had questioned Castiel. The angel revealed that another angel by the name of Naomi had been using some rather gruesome forms of mind control on him. But when Hermione had touched the Word of God, the link or chain that Naomi had over him snapped like a twig. He was Cas again, the shame and regret over the damage he had inflicted evident in his face.

Slowly, he moved toward Hermione and embraced her. Dean wasn't sure he had ever seen Castiel initiate physical contact. But he clung to the young girl, like she was his anchor in the storm, burying his face in her shoulder. Still holding the God rock, Hermione curled her arms around him, resting her face in his shoulder and slowing her elevated breathing.

Just then Sam burst into the room.

"We need to go. Crowley's... Hermione?" Sam blurted quickly and faltered on seeing the barefoot young witch. Dean met his brothers eyes and shook his head, as if to say long story.

"Crowley is here?" Cas questioned with a clear voice, looking at Sam. Sam nodded in reply. "Then we should leave - now." Castiel didn't miss a beat as he scooped and cradled Hermione. The men tore through the warehouse to the front street where Dean had parked the Impala. As they burst through the front door, Crowley appeared on the left side of the building, dragging a bloodied blonde woman by the hair.

"Dean - is that..." Hermione questioned unable to tear her eyes away from the terrible sight as they fled to the car.

"Yep- demon on demon," he barked never slowing.

Castiel had followed Hermione's gaze and faltered when he saw Meg. For the breath of a second his feet stopped until he looked back down at the brown eyes and bushy hair in his arms. Whipping his head back to the black car, he increased his pace.

\o/o\o/

As the lights of the Impala faded into small little pinpricks far down the highway, Crowley yanked Meg's hair to bring her to a standing position.

"Once again, you are nothing more than the Winchesters dirty laundry," he spoke with a sick smile. Meg kept a stoic face but deep in her eyes, fear and dread bubbled like acid. Suddenly the field next to the warehouse was empty once more as the King of Hell and his hostage vanished.

\o/o\o/

 _So to clarify at this point the Winchesters and Castiel have both the Angel Tablet and the Demon Tablet. The story line involving the kidnappings between Kevin and Crowley has been scrapped because I didn't want to try to work Kevin's character development into this series. While still hitting major events, season 8 will be modified from "Goodbye Stranger" on. I invite feedback because, although I have rewatched episodes of season 8 to prepare for this, I am sure I will miss things or leave a few loose ends.  
_


	15. Chapter 15

_After reading this out loud to my husband, I realized it was rift with typos. So I used Google-Read-and-Write to proof and fix all previously posted chapters. They are all updated with corrections. This one should be good to go._

\o/o\o/

Dean, Sam and Cas had been silent for a long stretch of road. Although Dean understood what had happened to Castiel, it still rankled him. Sam, for all intents and purposes, was baffled but he sensed the thick tension in the car and remained silent. And Castiel was practically choking on his shame; embarrassed about what had happened, and feeling like he didn't understand how deep that rabbit hole he just popped out of really was.

To top everything off there was an almighty Word of God nestled in the hands of a sleeping girl in the backseat. What that meant or could mean, the men could only guess.

After countless streetlights had clipped by, Sams curiosity finally got the best of him.

"What the heck happened back there?"

Cas locked eyes with Dean in the rear view mirror, at a loss for where to start.

"When we found the angel rock, Cas got hijacked. Apparently some angelic gamemaker has been riding shotgun in Cas' brain. She about killed me and if Hermione hadn't come to the call of that coin, she might have," Dean explained. Cas noticed he dodged direct mention of the fact that, although Naomi had been controlling him, it was Castiel that had almost killed Dean.

"What snapped her hold?" Sam queried.

"When Hermione touched the angel tablet, the power of it flooded through her... and uh... since Greenwood she and I have been... linked. So it back fed through me, breaking heaven's hold," Cas wasn't sure how to explain what connected the two of them and he wasn't sure how the Winchesters would react to learning of that connection. After all, it had been Castiel's idea to flood her with power that day.

"What do you mean "linked?" Dean prodded through thin lips, eyes dead set on the road ahead. Protectiveness radiated from the oldest brother like heat waves. The idea of Hermione being unintentionally saddled to an angel, even Cas, sounded like possession on some level.

"When I channeled my power through her, some of my psyche latched onto hers, just a very small shadow. Some of hers clung to mine. I don't know how to reverse it - I'm afraid it could kill her," Cas said, eyes resting on her sleeping form.

"Did you know that was going to happen?" Sam questioned.

"From everything I know it not only should not have happened - it should have been impossible. Angelic and human psyches are so different that that kind of transfer is - unusual. I don't even know what it looks like," Castiels' eyes never moved from her.

"Cas - be careful," Dean warned. He could see what was behind Cas' eyes - it was the look Dean wore in pictures from his year with Lisa and Ben. It was the look that Sam had every time someone mentioned Jess - even to this day. It may have been that tussle in Greenwood that linked the psyche, or whatever, of the angel and the witch. But Hermione held more of Cas than he realized.

The engine of the Impala roared all the way to that black garage door. Not wounded in body but sick in heart, the passengers slowly climbed out of the old muscle car once she was pulled safely in the garage. Although she was stronger each day, the apparation and emotion had drained Hermione and she slept most of the way back to the bunker, curled against Castiels side, his arm draped over her.

When they entered the door, they were barraged by two distraught looking bodies.

"What in the bloody..." Ron started and faltered, seeing the damaged and exhausted looks on their faces.

"What happened?" Harry asked quietly and once again Dean launched in the happenings of the day, spinning the yarn so that Cas didn't look like the monster he felt he was.

Numb and still reeling from everything, they sat around the kitchen table for a few minutes, just enjoying the peace ad solitude that it brought them to be with each other.

After a few minutes, Hermione looked down at her hands, surprised.

"Oh - I still have your... tablet," she finished unsure. Dean and Sam slowly looked up at one another.

"We need Kevin," Sam said.

"I know. There is just something that feels real taboo about the Angel Tablet, Demon Tablet and Prophet of God all being in the same place," Dean sighed rubbing his face. After a moment or so, Dean levered himself to his feet and walked over to Cas.

"He is a rundown boat house in the abandon docks about 15 miles south of the bayou where Benny was born," Dean prattled off looking expectantly at Castiel. Relief and gratitude poured through the angel, although it didn't show on his face. This small request, this simple inclusion back into the fold, was Dean's way of showing Castiel that he was forgiven. With a soft ruffling of feathers, the two men disappeared.

"They could be awhile. We better turn in," Sam sighed, standing and stumbling backwards into the wall.

"Easy mate," Ron said, reaching his hands behind Sam.

"I'm okay. Just tired. Really tired. Always tired actually," Sams voice trailed as he pushed his chair in slowly.

\o/o\o/

Sun already up, three bodies fluttered back into the bunker. It had taken some convincing to get Kevin to come. And even after they had convinced him, he then revealed that he had stashed the demon tablet elsewhere. Dean insisted on retrieving it. Once the prophet, his notes, and the tablet were assembled, they had returned.

Heart almost leaping out of his chest, Dean saw the trio tinkering around the kitchen. Hot coffee steamed in the carafe. Mounds of soft yellow scrambled eggs filled a pan. Crispy, buttery toast was stacked on a plate. Greasy, slightly burned sausage filled a second pan. And on another plate were large, splotchy looking circles of dough that closely resembled a brave attempt at pancakes. They looked happily up at Dean, Castiel, and the newcomer Kevin. Hermione looked better each day, the soft pink blush finally returning to her cheeks. Surrounded by food, Ron exuded happiness. And Harry locked eyes with Dean, trying to convey the meaning and feeling behind these piles of food.

A large lump forming in his throat, Dean hugged each of the kids in turn. Almost out of habit, just as Dean prayed for Sam he thought

 _Castiel, you take care of these kids. You keep them safe._

And for the first time in his life, Dean could hear Castiel's reply

 _I always will._


	16. Chapter 16

A tense on-pins-and-needles edge filled the bunker in the following days. With massive undertakings in the works for nearly everyone in those walls, every mind was constantly cranking and the air felt electric.

Kevin settled into the environment of the bunker quickly. He was working determinedly on the demon tablet, his focus unwavering. Having the angel tablet was a plus but his sole, all-consuming goal to shut the gates. Sam and Dean aided him in anyway they could, researching any lore around the idea and any lore on spells affecting hell in general. It was a less-than rewarding pursuit and they often filled in with supply runs and making meals to take a break from fruitless searching. Sams health, although not getting worse, was not getting any better at all. He was still sleeping restlessly and coughing up blood. Dean worried about his little brother but knew better than to push the subject; fearing he would push his brother away.

The trio spent time planning with the goblin. In exchange for his help and the information he provided, he demanded payment. And the only thing that Griphook would accept was the goblin-made sword of Gryffindor - the sword that had gotten Hermione tortured, that Bellatrix believed to be in her vault. They knew the sword they had was the true sword of Gryffindor because it had already destroyed one horcrux, in those wintery woods in England, which meant it was imbibed with basilisk venom from the Chamber where Harry had first found it. Knowing it was their only weapon against the horcrux they hoped was in the Lestranges vault, they had agreed to the goblins terms, careful to leave out exactly when they would give him the sword.

Castiel, although free from the mind control of the angel Naomi, was still distant. He believed that heaven was hunting him. His mission had been to procure the very powerful angel tablet and bring it to Naomi. Failing to do so, he knew there was a target on his back. On top of that, he was still trying to process and cope with what he had done under her control. He realized, as his mind slowly healed thanks to continued exposure to the power of the tablet, it was not the first time he had been invaded by her. And memories of very heinous, regrettable deeds came to him slowly, leaving him feeling sick, dirty, and betrayed. He fluttered in and out of the bunker, never staying long. He would come at random hours, sometimes only for a moment or two to watch the young witch sleep. In her dreams, she would feel a warmth and see a white light. When she would wake, there was always a feather left behind on the floor, which she would tuck under her pillow, smiling. Sometimes he would come and help one group or another research, trying to distract his mind and feel like he was working for something good again And there would be times he would come and sit alone in the library, as everyone was off some where else or sleeping, just thinking about how terribly he could have hurt... no, no _destroyed_ the people in this bunker, people that trust, that love him and that he trusted and loved. If he could have felt physically sick, he would have. He resolve began to harden and protecting these people that had stuck by him through so much became his base- what he believed in. And that thought, that goal, helped to heal him.

\o/o\o/

Nearly two weeks later, Harry made an abrupt announcement during breakfast. Sam had made oatmeal with chunks of fruit and nuts all mixed in - he didn't normally make breakfast but he had gotten less sleep than usual last night so having something to do was better than laying there, thinking.

"Tomorrow - tomorrow is when we are leaving. We have everything we can get our hands on - we have gone over everything a dozen times - and if we don't do it now I don't think..." his sentence faded but everyone understood.

They had talked for hours, going over everything he knew to try and imagine what could be in that vault. From the memories that Dumbledore had shared with him, they had figured out that Voldemort was proud of his time at Hogwarts and seemed drawn towards using relics from the founders to house his soul. They had already destroyed the locket and they didn't think that Voldemort had procured anything of Godric Gryffindors, which meant the item was something belonging to either Rowena Ravenclaw or Helga Hufflepuff. Although Rowena was best known for a diadem, lost ages ago, and Helga for a magical chalice, also lost in time, there could be artifacts the trio didn't know about...

So they had made a plan... They walked Sam and Dean through their plan several times, they had practiced different parts of it over and over. It was now or never. Even though their plan seemed suicidal at best, it was still the best option they had developed. Truly believing that there was a horcrux in the vault, based on Bellatrixs' reaction and on Voldemorts idealization of wizarding strongholds, they felt obligated to pursue the option. Ron, Hermione, and Harry spent the rest of the day packing, preparing, and spending time with those that they were going to miss more than anything.

Ron had developed a fascination with guns while staying with the Winchesters; revealing just a little of the same wonder that his father showed for nearly all things muggle. Dean had taken the time to teach him how to shoot, although he wasn't what you would call a natural. He had also shown him how to clean and maintain a gun. Ron seemed to relish in the precision and importance of these small tasks. As Dean spread several guns on an old towel over a library table, Ron strolled in and pulled up a chair. Smiling a small half smile, Dean sat and cleaned in silence with Ron for some time.

"Do you feel ready for tomorrow?" Dean finally asked, never pausing or looking up from the gun he was cleaning. Ron, too, continued unceasingly dismantling and oiling the weapon in his hand. There was a long heavy moment before he replied.

"No but I don't think I ever will. Half the time we aren't ready anyways - we just barrel in. I thought having this time to prepare would make it feel different, better. But it has just let my mind wonder to the thousands of things that could go wrong."

"And they will. Nothing ever goes according to plan - but you have to keep rolling. That's the trick; no matter what keep movin' forward. If you let it all catch up to you, it'll crush you," Dean spoke low and seriously, realizing how similar they were.

Meanwhile, Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed in his room, staring at nothing in particular, the same familiar thoughts reeling through his mind. As he sat lost in his thinking, Sam walked by his open door, returning from some digging in the archives a few floors down. He doubled back by Harry's room and poked his head in.

"Hey man, you doin okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. Harry blinked, coming out from his reverie.

"Yeah," but the crack in his voice betrayed his fears and doubts. Sam didn't hesitate, walking into the room.

"Thinking about tomorrow?" Harry replied with a jerky nod.

"Listen, you guys have a solid plan. Don't make yourself sick over the what-ifs," Sam tried to encourage his young friend.

Harry took in a deep breath before answering, "I know. That isn't even what is eating at me. The more I sit here and think, it's just... I brought them into this - Ron and Hermione - and they came not even really knowing what was going to happen. I didn't even really know. Hermione has been tortured and Ron was ripped from his family, not to mention the danger they are all in. All because of me. I just want this to end - I want to make it right, stop letting them down..." he lost his words in the end and just hung his head, running a frustrated hand through his untidy hair.

Changing a few words, Sam could have said the same things. He wanted to do something right, by Dean especially. To be there for his brother for once. Sam had left him in purgatory for a year, not to mention other things involving Ruby... demon blood... he wanted to come through.

"They love you. That isn't going to change, no matter what. They are your family," as the words left Sams mouth, they rested heavily on his heart. It isn't often you realize that you could benefit just as deeply from your own advice.

\o/o\o/

Wanting to arrive in Gringotts at a inconspicuous hour, they left the bunker the next day around 4am. Just as before, everyone gathered in the atrium for heart heavy good byes. Castiel and Hermione stood to the side for a long time, just holding each other, Cas trying not to look as devastated as he felt. Hermione letting soft silent tears blot the sleeve of his jacket. Then, just as before, there were wet-eyed hugs, hand shakes, and back pats all around. But unlike the last time, the brothers knew the danger that these teens headed for and there was a solemnity that hung in the air, like the heavy wet feeling in summer just before it rains. After they climbed the stairs, nearly to the door, Hermione and Ron each downed some more of that sick looking potion. Ron was transformed into a surly looking auburn man that worked at the five-and-dime Dean frequented. Hermiones skin rippled before long shoots of stark black hair sprayed from her head, her face became alabaster white and gaunt, her eyes deep, dead, hollow. Although Castiel, Dean and Sam had never met Bellatrix Lestrange, and they knew that it was really Hermione at the top of the stairs, seeing even the likeness made their skin crawl and a cold stone fall into their gut.

They walked out the door with Griphook and there was that familiar crack before the door creaked shut.


	17. Chapter 17

When they landed in a small alcove just off Diagon Alley, they could immediately sense how wrong everything felt. The trio knew that Voldemort was poisoning the Wizarding community, as evidenced in their disastrous run through the Ministry. But Diagon Alley looked like the skeletal shell of what it once was. One in every three shops was boarded up. Everywhere there were posters of "Mudbloods" on the run and Harry's face was peering from all other available space with the phrase "Undesirable #1" glowing underneath. He had hoisted Griphook on his back and hidden under the cloak before they apparated.

Even the people in the alley seemed damaged. Where once there had been crowds of children and shoppers everywhere, now there were some sparse, tense groups darting around like they were shopping under gun-point. There were destitute, homeless wizards who had had their wands stripped from them or their homes destroyed lining the edges of the streets. Some begged for money, others seemed to be waiting to die. It was a heart breaking sight for Ron, Harry and Hermione. While they had been on the run, hunting horcruxes, they had tried to stay away from anything familiar. They didn't know how hopeless their world had become.

Holding back tears, the three proceeded cautiously with their plan, heading to the large, white stone bank. Upon entry, Harry could sense something was not exactly right. Hermione did her best to portray Bellatrix in all her vileness. After a moment or two of conversation, it appeared the the goblin in charge was going to try to find an excuse not to take them to the Lestrange vault. Harry could only guess why. So adopting the back up of their plan, Harry slowly stuck the tip of his wand to the edge of the cloak and muttered, "Imperio."

He instantly felt the control of the goblin as it followed even his smallest thought.

They were in the cart hurtling toward the vault, deep in the farthest reaches of the bank as the Lestrange family was a very old family indeed, when the next hiccup came. Coming around the bend, suddenly tumbling over the tracks was a glittering waterfall.

"Thiefs Downfall!" Griphook shouted as the hit the spray. Suddenly the cart slammed to a stop, sirens wailed through the belly of the bank and they were dumped into the abyss, hundreds of feet from the bottom.

" _ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"_ Hermione shouted and they all stopped a few feet short of smashing into pulp, then suddenly plopped the rest of the way down. All the enchantments they had cloaked themselves in had been washed away in the enchanted waters, leaving them wearing three of the most wanted faces in Wizard kind. The goblin Harry had imperioed stared around, confused. Ron quickly reapplied the spell.

"They know! Run!" Griphook shouted as they hurried toward the vaults.

Just when the trio was sure things couldn't possibly get worse - there was a low, deep roar instantly followed by a searing hot shot of flame from the corridor ahead of them. They skidded to a halt.

"Dragon?! Dragon?!" Harry asked astonished, looking at Griphook who was running along side them. He smiled horribly. Feet before the door there was a pile of large iron clanking devices. Griphook seized one and started slamming it back and forth as he entered the chamber holding the dragon.

"It's been trained to fear hot blades when it hears the noise," he said smiling sickly. The trio was disgusted but they followed the goblin past the damaged looking beast, deeper into the vaults.

Finally they halted in front of a massive door. Griphook slammed the hand of the still imperioed goblin on the surface and it melted away. Huge piles of gold, armor, jewels, and countless other treasures filled the interior of the vault. Carefully the trio entered, searching for what they were seeking.

Hermione had bumped a large emerald on a table; instantly it wobbled and then burst into 5 duplicate copies!

"They've hexed everything. Touch nothing!" Griphook shouted, looking nervous. For a few careful, tense minutes they searched until finally Ron laid his eyes on a simple golden cup emblazoned with a badger.

"It's here!" he yelled as he grabbed it and his face contorted in pain. Copies of the cup burst from his hand and the edges of his jacket started to smoulder. Versions of the cup knocked into other items and a veritable flood of jinxed treasure cascaded down on them. The cursed gold burned like acid, leaving welts on bare skin and singeing holes in clothing. They struggled through the piles and broke free from the mass of blistering metal into the hall, where it started to pour out after them. They fled. They had just reached the dragons chamber when bolts of light started to hit the doorway they were headed out of.

"Guards. Give me the sword and I will try to deter them!" Griphook said seriously. The trio exchanged nervous and desperate looks before Hermione plunged her hand into her bag, pulling the gleaming, ruby crusted blade out. She regretfully passed it into the goblins' warty clever hands.

He ran, shaking the clankers, into the chamber. Almost instantly his voice drifted back.

"Thieves! Thieves! In the hall!" They grimaced at his betrayal. After a few panicked moments, they darted behind pillars just out of the spray of the dragon.

"What are we going to do?" Harry gasped, the desperation echoing through his voice. Hermione gritted her teeth, and looked to the heavens, as if praying.

"Follow me," she shouted. Leaping from behind the pillars, she made a mad dash up the tail of the dragon who was trying to snack on the guards lunging for the young wizards. Ron and Harry followed, terrified.

" _RELASHIO_!" she shouted, pointing at the chains anchoring the ancient beast to the stone floors. He seemed to hear the smooth slide of the chains and experimentally raised his forearm. Not feeling the familiar restraint, he reared excitedly on his hind legs, scattering the wizards fighting him.

Then he began to climb, scrabbling up the rough stone walls the lined the low vaults. Higher and higher it rose until it reached the top of the vault. Heaving a huge breath, he burst through the stone, right into the bottom of the bank. And still it climbed, shattering the beautiful glass dome. Exuberant, stumbling drunk on the fresh air for the first time in who knew how long, the dragon spread its tattered wings and leaped into the bright afternoon sun!

Each of the trio had flown before but it was nothing like soaring on the back of this beast. They felt every wing stroke, their hands went numb they were up so high. But they didn't release their grip or shift at all, terrified of falling.

After what felt like hours, they were desperate for the creature to land but it seemed determined to fly high forever after ages of captivity. Shaking violently, Hermione's hand slipped and within the span of a breath her body was arching gently through the clouds, plummeting towards the grassy hills below. Harry and Ron had scrambled to grab her and in doing so, followed her down.

The world stopped as they tumbled through the wind and sunlight. Harry and Ron jerked and scrabbled, desperate to cling to their wands and the horcrux, trying to form some thought or plan. Tears flew up from Hermiones eyes and her mouth was opened in a scream that no one would ever hear.

Suddenly there was a huge splay of silky black feathers and just as quickly as they had come, they vanished along with the witch. Ron and Harry stared in shock. The mass of feathers appeared, like a still life painting, seemingly unaffected by their momentum, above them. They looked right into the crystal blue eyes of Castiel and relief drowned them as they too disappeared from their free fall.


	18. Chapter 18

Once again, the trio found themselves in the bunker looking worse for wear. Hermione looked terrified and windswept. Harry and Ron appeared with Castiel moments later with nearly identical expressions. They were all three covered in angry, blistering welts and their clothing was ragged and smouldering. Sam, Dean, and Kevin tore into the atrium; when Castiel had deposited Hermione, he had shouted Dean's name before leaving again.

Falling to their knees beside their young friends, the brothers pulled each of them into rough hugs, breathing hard. When they had seen the trio off, they had been unsure if they would ever see them again. Even damaged, they were a sight for sore eyes. And the trio, despite the numerous mishaps of their adventure, had survived... and they had the horcrux.

However, because things had not gone smoothly, Harry knew their minutes were now numbered. He pulled from Sam, clambering for the magic bag. Pulling out the dittany, he scattered droplets onto the burned skin of him and his friends.

"We have to hurry," Harry said sounding anxious. Hermione and Ron looked at him in shock, clearly wanting to rest in the only place they were safe.

"That scene at Gringotts won't be missed. Before long he is going... AGRH!" Harry buckled over, hands slamming into his forehead. He writhed in pain, tears leaking from his eyes.

"What... what is it?" Sam begged at a loss for words, scrabbling to find a way to help his friend.

"He... he is angry... so angry... he is there... he, he... KNOWS!" Harry panted out small phrases, eyes still shut, still writhing in pain. On the last words he convulsed again, racked with a fresh wave of agony. He twisted for another few moments, jerking and grimacing. Finally, he stilled, laying there panting. No one spoke, just sat crouched around Harry, hoping his eyes opened.

"He was there... and angry. I saw the cup flash in his mind... and the ring that Dumbledore destroyed... the locket... his snake... and a crown looking thing," he paused, "He knows we have it - he is going to check on the rest... I know where the last one is."

Each face there looked stunned. Ron and Hermione knew that Harry sometimes got flashes from Voldemort, especially when his emotions were running high. Dean and Sam didn't know about these but they were shocked to hear that the end of their friends quest seemed to be coming.

With a still, steady glance, Harry opened his eyes and, looking at the ceiling, said, "Hogwarts."

The shock from his phrase had settled like fresh snow on everyone in the room.

"Hogwarts? How can it be there? How would Dumbledore not have found it?" Ron asked.

"I don't know but I saw each horcrux exactly where we have found them so this one has to be there. It isn't gong to take him long to figure out we have the rest - we need to go, now!" Harry explained, sitting up and looking from one confused face to another. It took only a thought for them to reply.

"Let's go," Sam said. The trio whipped their heads around.

"What?!" Harry and Ron chimed.

"Let's. Go." Dean repeated for his brother. "Clean up, suit up, we split in 10," Without another question, the eldest Winchester walked from the room, heading to his bedroom, presumably to put his boots on.

"Sam - listen I know you guys want to help but..." Harry began to protest.

"You are facing deep, dark evil, right?" Sam asked from beneath furrowed brows.

"Well yeah but..." Ron began.

"We have extensive experience in that field. We are coming. End of story." And Sam followed his brother to gear up. Sam knew his brothers mind - the last several times they had seen their friends off, it had been disastrous. They had been tortured at Malfoy Mansion and then they had turned up looking like they had been dipped in acid and dropped from an airplane. He and his brother may not be wizards but they had dealt with enough of the supernatural to know and a thing or two and they were tired of their friends almost dying.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat there staring at one another. The thought of these muggle brothers, no matter how capable they were, wading into the middle of a wizards war sounded absurd. But they would be lying to say there wasn't a small piece of them that was comforted by the thought of having the brothers there. Hermione turned her eyes toward Castiel slowly.

"Of course," he said with a smile.

\o/o\o/

Ten minutes later, they were again assembled just outside the bunker doors, minus Kevin. He was overwhelmed enough by his own mission, he decided to stay behind.

"We will apparate into Hogsmeade, it is the town just below Hogwarts. We can't apparate into Hogwarts itself," Hermione said, holding out her hands. Taking a slow deep breath, they all linked hands. Standing in a small hopeful circle, staring at the faces surrounding them, a deep breath was shared before the stone entry way was empty once more.

It was cold and dark when they landed in the empty streets. Their hands dropped, Sam and Dean both buckling at the waist, pressing their hands hard into their knees to keep from throwing up all over the ground. Having only a moment to breathe, the air was filled with a horrible caterwauling, just like the one that had sounded outside of Greenwood all those weeks ago. Panic filled them all as the sound of thundering feet poured into the streets. The bolted into the shadows furthest from the sounds of the feet, looking for somewhere to hide. Turning a final corner, the back door of a seedy looking bar opened, where a dim flickering light poured out. A man stood in the shadows, looking vaguely familiar.

"In... In..." he whispered in a hoarse voice, waving his arm. Filled with doubt but not seeing a better option, they all filed into the old, rundown building as the old man clicked the door behind them shut. They headed down the rickety stairs opposite the door, moving toward the light in the basement.

Once they were gathered in the basement, they all stood stock still, listening. After several minutes, there was nothing - no more sounds of feet or fighting. Their rescuer stood at the base of the stairs, still hidden in the shadows watching the odd assortment of fighters in his basement.

"Bloody fools, what are you thinking, coming here?" he barked, moving into the light. The trio stared dumbfounded up at the man. His hair had more gray, less white. His nose was wider, not as long. His eyes less blue, more gray. Very nearly Dumbledore. It was Hermione that broke the silence.

"Aberforth?" she questioned. He smiled a small, rueful smile. Suddenly, Harry remembered the blue eye that had peered out at him from the shard of the mirror that was still stowed in his sock. He had thought that it was some shadow or memory of Dumbledore but now he realized it was this man, with eyes that weren't quite as blue. Half expecting to see it, he whipped his head around looking for the twin mirror; the one that was partner of the shard he had. The one that had belonged to his godfather Sirius.

"You're the one I've been seeing!" he shouted. "In the mirror! You sent Dobby," his voice fading, the memory of the lost elf still painful.

"I thought he'd be with you. Where've you left him?" the old man asked looking around.

"He died. Bellatrix Lestrange killed him," Ron spoke slowly, knowing how much it still hurt Harry.

"Sorry to hear that, I liked that elf," he said, walking further into the circle.

"Who gave it to you? Who?" Harry asked, fury in his voice.

"Fletcher - Mundungus Fletcher. Bout a year ago," Aberforth said slowly.

"He had NO RIGHT! It belonged to..." Harry shouted.

"Sirirus," Aberforth said softly, but it was enough to silence Harry. "I know. Albus told me. He also said you would be hacked off if you ever found out I had it. But I have been using it to keep an eye on you - good thing too."

"Excuse me, Merlin, this is all very Big Brother but we have some work to do," Dean said, stepping forward. He had had enough banter and wanted to get moving again.

"And who are you, to come barreling into this town with the most wanted faces in our world?" Aberforth scrunched his brows together, looking questioningly at the strange men.

"They are friends of ours. They are here to help; and they are right, we need to get moving," Harry said, snapping back to his mission.

"No, no, no," Aberforth said, looking down and shaking his head, "What we need to do is figure out how to get you out of here. We'll wait for daybreak, when they lift the caterwauling curfew, then you can apparate out of here."

"We're not leaving - we need to get into Hogwarts," Hermione chimed.

"Don't be stupid," Aberforth snapped. Castiel sizzled slightly, taking a step toward the old man.

"Easy, man," Dean said, placing a still hand on Cas' stomach.

"Just what are you?" Aberforth asked slowly, seeing the white sparks coming off the angel.

"It doesn't matter - we need to get into the castle - Dumbledore, your brother, wanted us..." Harry barked.

The ominous face on the younger Dumbledore was enough to stop Harry's speech.

"My brother Albus wanted a lot of things and people had a habit of getting hurt while he was carrying out these grand plans. Listen, you get away from this school, all of you, out of the country if you can. Forget my brother and his clever schemes. He's gone where none of this can hurt him, and you don't owe him a thing - not anything."

"You don't understand," Harry began again.

"Don't I? You don't think I understand my own brother? Think you knew Albus better than I did?" and everyone was quiet. "I knew my brother, Potter. He learned secrecy at our mother's knee. Secrets and lies, that's how we grew up, and Albus... he was a natural . You see her?" he asked, glancing a the portrait of the young girl over the fire place. Dean and Sam did a double take, realizing the girl was smiling and playing with her hair. "That's my sister, Ariana. I see that Albus never mentioned her..."

Aberforth began talking about his younger sister who had been attacked as a child. Afraid to use magic after that, it had turned inward and driven her mad. His father went to Azkaban for going after the boys that had hurt her. His mother died in an accident with Ariana when she was twelve. It was then that her care had fallen to Albus. Although he was there, his mind had been elsewhere. He made friends with a dangerous wizard called Grindlewald and when Aberforth had confronted them about what they were up to, things had gotten out of hand. In the crossfire, Ariana had been hit. They never knew if it was Albus, Aberforth, or Grindlewald that had done it.

"He was free after her death, just like he wanted..." Aberforth finished.

"No; he wasn't. He was never free. He never forgave himself," Harry said, remembering watching his mentor plead with an unseen foe, shouting "Aberforth" and "Ariana" when he had been tortured by that potion in the seaside cave. There was a dark heavy moment.

"It doesn't matter, Potter. This is a useless dream you are chasing. There is no way for you to finish this fools' errand my brother left you. You should run, as fast and as far as you can. And keep running."

"Listen - I understand that you have given up. But we haven't. And if you can't help us get into Hogwarts, we will wait to morning and sneak in ourselves," Harry said. He felt sorry for Aberforth, that he had given up. But he knew their time was limited and he still believed in what they were trying to do.

The old man stared hard at him, eyes squinted. After several deep breaths, he glanced up at the portrait of his sister.

"You know what to do," she smiled at her brother, nodded, and turned around shrinking into the background. Dean walked up to the portrait, looking at it curiously.

"Man, that is unreal," he said shaking his head.

"I still don't understand what you three have to do with this," Aberforth queried.

"Oh...uh, I'm Dean and this is my brother Sammy and that over there is Cas. We, um, we fight evil," Dean finished majestically, wanting to sound more qualified for what they were heading into than he felt. Aberforth looked unconvinced.

"I am an angel of the Lord and Sam and Dean are hunters," Castiel said simply.

"Uh huh," Aberforth said, clearly thinking they had been hitting the fire whiskey a little hard. Everyone fell back into that awkward silence. Suddenly, Sam spoke, "Look," eyes on the painting.

They could see the small figure of Ariana returning but she wasn't alone. As they got closer, the figure looked familiar to the trio. The two moved closer and closer until only their head and shoulders were visible. Then suddenly the large portrait swung open like a door, with Neville Longbottom standing at the edge of a crudely carved tunnel.

"I knew you'd come! I knew it, Harry!"


	19. Chapter 19

There was a long, disbelieving moment, the trio staring up at the disheveled, slightly bloody figure of their friend and former classmate. He leaped into the room, pulling them each into a big hug as he smiled from ear to ear, greeting them. They recovered and returned his hugs smiling, happy to see the familiar face.

After greetings, he waved them into the tunnel, turning to speak to Aberforth quietly before wedging up to the front to guide them. Neville explained about the state of Hogwarts; about the Carrows, Death Eaters that were running the show. Some of the students hadn't taken to their methods and had tried to fight back. When things became very dire, the room of requirement turned itself into a refuge. Aberforth had been helping them via this passageway that had opened up between The Hog's Head bar and the room. He told them about how dark the wizarding world had gotten, how people went missing or wound up dead daily. But he said there were still those that fought, looking hopefully at Harry.

He talked the entire journey back to the castle, never pausing to question the three tall strangers that were following his friends. Stopping just before a dark wooden doorway. Neville slammed it open, with the biggest smile on his face.

"HARRY! IT'S HARRY! POTTER! POTTER!" Excited yells echoed through a vast room that was slung with banners and hammocks, and filled with bodies.

More questions and a barrage of faces assailed those pouring out of the tunnel. After a flurry of greetings and hugs, Neville turned quietly toward Harry.

"So what's the plan?" and every face in the room looked at the six newcomers with baited breath. It was at that moment another vision racked Harry's body; he saw Voldemort standing in a rickety old shack, fury rolling off his body, ripping down more of the ram-shackled, old house.

Harry clutched his scar and stumbled back into the wall. Neville looked at him, scared. His companions waited to hear what he saw.

"We need to go," he snapped.

"Exactly! What's the plan? What are we going to do?" it was another classmate, Seamus Finnagan, who asked this time. Harry noticed he had a purplish, angry looking black eye.

"Plan?..." Harry thought for half a moment. He quickly explained that they needed to find something. When they asked what, he avoided the question. They asked why; he dodged again. He avoided giving any answers until finally Neville snapped.

"Harry, what is going on?"

"Listen, Dumbledore left us this mission and we can't talk about it and..." Harry tried to think desperately of what to do.

"But we are all his army," Neville said softly, recalling the group they had formed years ago in their headmasters name.

"Look..." Harry started and at that moment the portrait behind them swung open again and there were two girls silhouetted in the shadows.

Sam recognized one girl with billows of blonde hair and a faraway gaze as Luna, the girl that had escaped the dungeons with the trio. She looked healthier since her time with Ron's family, and excited to be back in the castle.

Dean instantly realized the other girl had to be Ginny, Ron's younger sister. She had sheets of flaming red hair and bore a striking facial resemblance. As they stepped out of the portrait, Luna hugged old friends and waved at the brothers, who returned her wave, smiling. Ginny stepped forward, eyes locked on Harry. He was staring dumbfounded at the small young woman coming toward him. Dean saw that look - the one Castiel saved for Hermione, etched deep into the lines of Harry's face. His suspicions were confirmed when the girl grabbed Harry, kissing him hard. There were several catcalls from the room and Ron pointedly looked away, reddening slightly. She looped her hand through Harry's as they parted, Harry looking a little dazed.

More bodies poured from the portrait hole; many of them kids the same age as Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Two boisterous looking older boys also came; they both had the same flaming red Weasley hair so Dean assumed this must be Fred and George.

Apparently, when they had returned to the castle, Neville had quietly told another student to start sending signals and messages to everyone in the Order and the DA, whatever that was.

 _Harry's here. Time to fight._

They were apparating straight into Aberforth's bar, much to his annoyance.

The trio looked around, realizing that there was a group of people here who loved them. Who had been fighting their own fight ever step of the way with them. They didn't need to know everything about the horcruxes to be able to help. Besides, they were running out of time.

Quickly, Harry explained they were looking for a crown thing - probably the diadem of Ravenclaw. This was met with awkward stares, everyone knowing the relic had been missing for hundreds of years. After some planning, it was decided that Luna, a Ravenclaw, would do what she could to help Harry find the diadem. Pulling the invisibility cloak over the two of them they disappeared out of the entrance to the room of requirement.

Everyone waited in the room for Harry to return, Castiel and the Winchesters feeling very out of their element. After a few minutes, more bodies poured out of the portrait but this time they weren't kids - they were full grown wizards. The first that the brothers had met. Again, red hair popped up and they knew this must be more Weasleys.

Not left guessing long, Ron was walking over to the brothers with a plump, kind faced witch and a jovial-looking, thin man in tow; both with bright red hair.

"Guys, this is my mum and my dad," Ron said brightly. Dean was not accustomed to meeting families so he smiled awkwardly, sticking his hand out. Tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, Mrs. Weasley pulled Dean into a tight hug. When she released him, she turned on Sam and then Cas, leaving all three men staring dumbfounded at the witch.

"Thank you," was all she said.

"Ron told us about you - about what you did for him and Hermione and Harry," Mr. Weasley said thickly, "Thank you for taking care of our children," he stuck his hand out to return Dean's shake as proffered.

Sam and Dean were taken aback by the family; they had only done what they knew was right - like they always tried to do. And hardly ever did anyone even notice. In fact, more often than not they got shot or worse for their efforts. Having this woman standing there, in tears she was so thankful, left a lump in their throats.

Conversation between the men and the Weasleys continued and quickly Sam and Dean learned of Mr. Weasleys love of Muggle things as he asked about the most everyday things like toasters or door stoppers.

More witches and wizards poured into the already packed room. More red hair on a thin pale man with a badly scarred face. He had a beautiful young witch with him who left Dean staring opened mouthed. They made their way to the Weasleys'. Dean snapped his jaw shut when he learned the woman was Ron's sister-in-law, Fleur, and the scarred man his brother, Bill. Another couple ambled over; a sandy haired man with old scratch scars on his face. He had a thin, weary appearance. Hand in hand with a comely young witch with brilliantly purple hair, they introduced themselves as Remus and Tonks Lupin.

In the time the trio had spent at the bunker before robbing Gringotts, they had shared stories about their lives and those they loved. To meet the man that Harry looked to as a mentor and a father figure, in the absence of his own father and godfather, meant something to Sam and Dean. This man had been there for Harry and his friends more than once. They knew he also happened to be a werewolf but it seemed to affect blood-born magicks differently and they were able to treat the sickness with potions.

Dean shook his hand, a serious look on his face. Lupin didn't know who the Winchesters were nor did he understand why two Muggles were willingly plunging into a wizard war. But they had this calming air about them, like none of this shocked or scared them. And picking up on bits and pieces of information between the brothers and Ron, Lupin could see the trio trusted them; and that was enough for him.


	20. Chapter 20

Before long, Harry and Luna returned panting to the room of requirement. They looked like they had run the length of the castle. They were overjoyed to see more familiar faces; Mr. & Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Lupin, Kingsley Tonks, and so many others.

There was a long, heavy moment that slowed in time for Harry. He turned his head from side to side, looking at all the faces. Some had seen their share of struggle, the marks written on their skin. But they were all here, now; gathered for this fight. From corners of everywhere, they had come to stand with him against this evil, this darkness.

The world sped back up and Harry came crashing back into the moment. He and Luna quickly explained what had happened. When they had gone searching the Ravenclaw tower they had run into the Carrows. Professor McGonagall had tried to intervene, so that Harry could stay hidden. But after watching them disrespect the head of his house, he had snapped and turned on them. The situation had escalated quickly, resulting in the current Headmaster, Severus Snape, taking his leave. McGonagall was rallying everyone in the Great Hall.

His mind flooded again and he stumbled back into the wall clutching his searing forehead. He watched Voldemort yell in that dark, dank cave by the sea, the power and fury making the surface of the huge lake boil.

Harry's vision again became his own and he saw everyone looking at him concerned.

"We need to go... he's coming," he said and without another delay, bodies started to pour out of the door. The room seemed to understand what was going on because Sam swore the door was three times wider now than it had been.

When only Castiel, Hermione, and Dean were left, Hermione grabbed Dean's arm.

"Listen, I have an idea to destroy this," she said, holding up the chalice that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. Evil and hate seemed to drip off the cup, making the air around it sickening and upsetting. "We need basilisk fangs and I know where to find some."

"Right, let's go," Dean nodded, not questioning the witch. "Sam - stay with Harry and Ron. Cas and I are going on a supply run with Hermione."

With that, Hermione looped her hand into Castiel's, pulling him through the doorway into the castle proper. Dean tore after them and it took everything in him not to skid to halt and stare around him.

Everywhere there were moving portraits of witches and wizards of all ages. There were suits of armor clanking down the halls. Ghosts of a pearly white were floating in and out of the walls. Children in pajamas and socks, hastily pulling on sweaters and boots, were running from different points, all heading in the same direction. Some of them couldn't be more than 11 or 12. One young girl was shaking so hard she stumbled as she was running.

Dean slowed to kneel beside her, lifting her small body to her feet easily. She turned to smile at the man that was helping her and gave him a tight terrified hug. When she let go and continued to follow the herd of kids, Dean smiled at the small kindness of the little witch as he tore after Castiel's flailing trench coat.

\o/o\o/

Dean was a little confused when Hermione drug them into a girls' bathroom. Hermione started groping on the faucets around an old-fashioned circular sink.

"Here," she shouted, tracing her hands over a serpent that was on the faucet.

"Oh... oh, I don't speak Parseltongue..." Castiel and Dean looked at her. "Snake-language," she said in answer to their confused looks. She started pacing a little bit, trying to think of a quick fix for their situation. In that time, Dean watched Cas shrug, disappear, and reappear holding a full grown ball python. Hermione continued pacing in her own world. Dean cleared his throat to get her attention and when she turned with a frustrated face toward the two men, she gasped aloud at the snake in Castiel's hands.

"He wants to know what he should say," Castiel said, like it was perfectly normal to be talking to a snake. Hermione cocked her head to one side, looking surprised at the angel. After a moment, she just smiled.

"Open," and she stepped back to give the snake a clear view of the little carving on the faucet. As he hissed softly, the old sink started to shift and move. Within moments, there was a large, black hole in the floor of the bathroom.

"Alright, down we go," Hermione said, looking like she was bracing herself. Dean scrunched his face, looking questioningly at the hole. The idea of sliding down a chute in a bathroom didn't exactly sound like fun.

"Bring him," Hermione said, nodding towards the snake, contentedly curling around Castiel's arm. Sitting on the edge of the hole, Hermione hung her legs over, turned to smile at the men, and boosted herself off, disappearing in a swish. After a moment or so, they heard the sound of crunching. Grimacing slightly, Dean and Cas followed suit, hurtling into the darkness.

\o/o\o/

They were standing feet from the slowly decaying corpse of a serpent easily 70 feet long. Dean was just rubbing his face, trying to wrap his brain around all of this. Hermione wrestled a large tooth carefully from the mouth of the creature. She gingerly avoided the tip, where a small hole with congealed green slime was just visible. Holding the tooth in her hand like a dagger, she pulled the cup from the interior of her jacket and set it carefully on the floor. Locking eyes with the two men standing guard over her, she nodded. Raising the tooth high above her head, she plunged it into the interior of the goblet.

It sunk further into the cup than it should have, letting out a sick squelching sound as thick, almost black blood oozed from the base of the cup. There was a deep thrum from the end of the chamber. The sound grew until suddenly the water around them exploded as a scream ripped from the cup. Drenched and shocked, the three figures stood there, staring at the smoking cup.

"Yeah!" Hermione screamed out of nowhere, causing both of the men to jerk in surprise. The joy and exuberance of accomplishing another step in the journey towards defeating Voldemort flooded through Hermione. Tears of joy dribbled from her eyes as she threw her head back, relief flooding through her. She turned smiling again to her friends and before she could change her mind, planted a huge kiss right on the smiling face of the angel.

\o/o\o/

Meanwhile, Harry, Ron, and Sam were standing in the Great Hall of the castle surrounded by bodies and ghosts. A stern, powerful looking witch was directing the youngest children to leave through one of the tunnels in the castle, into a now nearly deserted Hogsmeade. The older students had been given the option to stay and nearly all of them did, even if their skin looked paler than before. Sam noticed several of the oldest students, with green serpent emblems join the young ones taking refuge from the battle.

The older witches and wizards were forming those left into small bands and talking tactics. Suddenly a deep, thrumming voice seemed to creep into every inch of reality and boom into their minds.

" _I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and none shall harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight._ "


	21. Chapter 21

_So I have been working on these chapters nonstop over the last few days. I feel like they are ready for you so let me know what you think._

 _This story had a life of its own so feedback or ideas are always welcomed._

\o/o\o/

After the echoing, sickening voice faded, no one moved. No one spoke, their heads still ringing from the disgusting, violating sound.

"Well he's right there! Grab him!" a shrill, annoying voice peeled from a black haired, pointy nosed girl with an emerald green serpent on her cloak.

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson. Now out, with the rest of your house," the stern witch Sam had learned was Professor McGonagall barked and the girl shrunk back as she shuffled out after a decrepit old man carrying a mangy looking cat.

Professor McGonagall continued to give commands and organize the remaining fighters, dismissing small groups to defend various parts of the castle. She caught sight of Harry standing, staring at the world spinning around him surrounded by his friends.

"Potter, aren't you supposed to be looking for something?!" she snapped.

Harry whipped his head around, remembering the last option left to him. He spied his prize hovering in the furthest corner of the hall, watching the mayhem around her, looking sad. He made his way through the bodies toward her, Ron and Sam in tow. Turning, he raised a hand to stay them and approached the ghost of the young woman alone.

"The Grey Lady?" he ventured and she nodded in return.

"Please, I need help. I need to know anything you can tell me about the lost diadem," he began.

She prepared to turn to float away, saying, "I am sorry... I cannot help you."

"WAIT!" and she stilled where she was.

"I need to know if it is here and I need to find it!'

"You are hardly the first student to badger about the diadem..." she said pompously.

"I'm not trying to pass an exam - I am trying to defeat Voldemort, or don't you care?" he said, losing his temper.

"Of course I... how dare you suggest?" she sputtered.

"Well, then help me!" and so began an exchange of information in which Harry learned that the Grey Lady was Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of the founder of Hogwarts. She had stolen the diadem from her mother all those years ago and through a series of unfortunate events, left it hidden in a hollow tree in a forest in Albania.

"Albania? Wait," Harry said recalling rumors he had heard so long ago that whatever had been left of Voldemort after that night in Godrics Hollow had been hiding, in a forest in Albania. "I'm not the first person you have told this story to?"

She closed her eyes mournfully. "I had no idea... he was so flattering... he seemed to... understand... to sympathize."

Harry rubbed his temples, frustrated. He had been so sure that the diadem would be here, but maybe he was wrong.

"He returned with it years ago but it was changed... foul. He hid it here in the castle. Where all things are hidden..." she spoke softly before gliding away soundlessly through the stone walls.

Blood flooded to Harry's face and he turned to his friends, who had been listening just feet away.

"What could that mean? Where all things are hidden?"

"Wait... there was something in _Hogwarts: A History_ about a room that changed depending on what you needed it for. Could there be a place where students hide things?" Sam said, recalling the passages of the old book. Like a wave of cold water, it hit Harry. Of course, why had he not thought of it before? Then, like the last gift you find at the very back of the Christmas tree, another memory tumbled into his mind.

On that day when he had run to the room, in a panic about slicing open Draco Malfoy, he had hidden his potions book. He had stuffed it in a box and slammed an old bust, a wig, and a faded looking old crown on top of it, hoping he would be back for his book.

That memory of the old crown on that cracked bust melded with the image he had seen from Voldemorts mind - that was it! Excitement filled him up as he pushed his way toward the door of the hall, sprinting for the room, his friends close behind.

He skidded to a halt not thirty yards out of the Great Hall when a drenched Hermione, Dean, and Cas, who seemed to be holding a grumpy snake, appeared.

"Where have you been?" Harry shouted. Hermione triumphantly held up the crumpled, melted remains of the cup, grinning from ear to ear, her hand still wrapped in the large hand of the angel. Castiel, despite the danger soaking through these walls, looked very happy. Harry hugged her, thrilled.

"We know where the last one is Hermione! We know! Then all we have left is the snake!" Harry shouted. "We need to get to the room of requirement!"

Hermione looked at Castiel and the angel smiled. The witch stuck out her empty hand to Harry who grabbed it confused. Dean understood and grimaced as he grabbed the snake-wrapped arm of his friend. They fluttered in a blur for a moment before the world became solid again, their position unchanged. Castiel furrowed his brows. Again they fluttered but did not move. Looking even more frustrated he released those near him. A thought later he was gone and another thought passed before he returned.

"I seem unable to ferry souls when traveling here... it is strange," he looked frustrated. Hermione smiled.

"Very old anti-apparation charms, deep magic," she said, clinging again to the hand of Castiel.

Harry shrugged and he continued to run, all his friends pursuing him. As they ran through the castle, the battle was under way. It seems that "until midnight" it had been another lie - Death Eaters and all other manner of dark creatures were waging war against the castle. There were sprays of light and the sounds of explosions came from everywhere. Students and other fighters raced around, dueling dark-robed figures and blasting apart vile creatures. Time slowed, as it always does in the best and worst moments. Dean saw that same frail body he had lifted earlier arch into the air, surrounded by bright green light. He looked into her eyes and watched the flicker of life dim and fade. Just as gracefully as she had risen, she crumpled into a small, sad pile on the cold stone.

Something deep in Dean snapped and he let out a carnal yell as he ran, blade in one hand, pistol in the other, toward whatever monster had killed this child. Turning the corner was a vile looking man with yellow skin and dead eyes. He had a sick, sinister smile on his slimy face and he pointed his wand at the wandless Dean, screaming "CRUCIO!"

Dean froze for a moment, feeling like his skin was melting from his body and his insides were exploding. But his vision was filled with the dying eyes of that little girl and he gritted his teeth, pushing past the mind-numbing agony. Jaw set, eyes focused, body fighting against the pain, he pursued the beast. Taking the last few steps between him and his surprised torturer, he sunk his knife hilt deep straight into his chest, watching the last twisted bit of life flee his nearly dead eyes. His body slumped down and Dean held onto his knife as it made a sickening sucking sound pulling out of the body. He breathed hard, relieved to be free of that curse.

Ron tore after Dean and he came up beside him, looking at him shocked. "How did you... that was... he... that was the Cruciatous Curse. I've never seen anyone even stay on their feet under it," Ron sputtered. Dean smiled darkly and looked up at his young friend.

"Man, I have been through worse," and with that he whipped himself around, intent on returning to the pack. Ron took the hint and matched him step for step, guiding him to where he knew they were headed. They came upon the door just as Sam was walking through.

"SAMMY!" Dean shouted and Sam stopped, holding the door open for his brother. They sprinted in and everyone but Harry stood for a moment dumbstruck in the massive room. It was the size of an ancient cathedral with small paths here and there. And it was filled with all manner of items from the hundreds of years students had been in the school. Furniture, books, broomsticks, cages of odd skeletons, and hundreds of other items filled the dimly lit space, looking like a small city of forgotten treasures.

"Spread out," Harry said, "It should be an old silvery crown with blue gems - maybe on a wig on top of a broken old statue bust." Confused but understanding the instructions, the party splintered, pouring through various pathways and crannies in the maze, searching for their prize.

"I've found it!" they all heard Harry yell not far to their left. Following his yell was a crack and a small crash. Thundering feet could be heard and all the bodies in the room headed toward the center where the ceiling was highest. As Hermione and Castiel, Ron and Sam, and Dean came hurtling into the large, somewhat open center, Harry came running toward his friends, three figures far behind him in pursuit. One was a tall, thin boy with white blond hair and sickly pale skin. The two behind him were big with brutish, mean features. Spells were blasting out of their wands as Harry ran, one hand clutching a faded dusty crown and the other firing spells back at his attackers. Coming closer, Hermione and Ron started firing as well and Sam and Dean unloaded their pistols. A bullet took one of the thugs in the leg and as he went down, he shouted.

Suddenly bright red fire sprayed from the end of his wand. But it wasn't fire like any of them had ever seen.


	22. Chapter 22

It never stopped pouring from the fallen boys' wand. He jerked and swung the wand, trying to shake it off but the hot, red flames kept pouring out, filling the space around him - consuming him. Then the fire took on the shapes of charging animals. It barreled toward them, destroying everything in its path.

"AGUAMENTI!" the trio shouted simultaneously. Huge arks of water shot out of their wands but it turned to steam feet before the fire. Hermione turned to the rest of them, terror in her eyes.

"Fiendfyre!" she shouted. "Run!" Sprinting through the middle passageway that was the largest, they all raced for their lives from the huge, hot blaze. It seemed the grow the longer it burned, chasing the heroes and the tall, pale boy and his one remaining companion.

A few yards in the front, Harry threw his left arm out as he turned down another pathway and he heard the thundering footfalls follow his lead. Salvation rested on an old trunk about forty feet down the path; some ancient looking but hopefully serviceable broomsticks. Harry skidded to a halt and scooped them in his arms. He threw them to his approaching friends. Ron was there first, closely followed by Sam. Not hesitating, Sam jumped behind his ginger friend and they were off. Castiel was upon him, hand still linked in Hermiones. They leaped onto the broom and took flight, Hermione burying her face into the back of his trenchcoat. Harry had two brooms left; not pausing Dean took the broom and kicked off, wobbling a little as he strove to gain height. Harry prepared to mount his broom and follow his friends when he glanced back and saw the sweaty face of Draco Malfoy running for his life.

Draco, who had stood by while Hermione had been tortured, while Dumbledore had been murdered. Harry owed him nothing. But deep down, Harry could see the fear that poured over every part of his enemys' life; from his parents and their beliefs. And despite himself, he pitied him.

"Dean!" Harry shouted and Dean looked back, fighting to turn the confounded broom in the right direction. Harry jerked his head back toward the two that were only a few yards ahead of the blaze. He took off toward them. Rolling his eyes, inwardly cursing the heart of this boy, Dean leaned forward urging the broom to follow that mess of untidy hair.

Swooping over his outstretched hands, Harry had scooped the dull looking brute that had been feet from the flames onto his broom. They leaned and tipped ominously before Harry regained control and whipped the broom around. Dean jerked up on the thin arm of the pale blonde and flung him around onto the back of the broomstick. Trying to counter for the extra weight, he leaned and turned the broom slowly. Seeing Harry leaning almost flat on the broom ahead of him, racing after the specks of their friends, Dean did the same.

Seconds felt like days as the hot fire consumed centuries of secrets below them. Large heads and tongues of flame started to shoot into the sky, like it knew they had taken to the air to flee. Harry had to jerk sharply as a huge spike of fire shot into the air. He and his passenger went into a nearly fatal barrel roll and the crown that Harry had been clutching was flung into the air.

Twirling in near slow motion, the diadem was licked and singed by the fire. Dean watched it start to smoke and a small, echoing scream came from the metal. Dean glanced at Harry, yards away, and saw the dismay on his face. Gritting his teeth in determination, Dean urged the last bit of speed from the broom. He dipped the tip ever so slightly and shot his hand out to snatch the diadem that was free-falling after the flame that had rejoined the flood below.

Gripping the hot, still smoking relic, Dean returned his focus to the dot of light that showed the door back into the castle. Harry was a few feet behind him. Not a minute too soon, Dean, Harry, and their passengers tumbled through the door, rolling hard on the cold stone floor. Sam pushed on the door to the room with all his might, shutting it before the flames burst forth. Draco and his accomplice scrambled to their knees, fleeing before any there came to their senses enough to realize that had been their fault.

Dean dropped the crown on the floor, looking at the red welts it left in his hand. For a moment they all stared at the black, smouldering crown. Before their eyes it seemed wither and pieces scattering in an unseen wind down the hall. Seconds later there was a small, twisted scrap of metal where the beautifully carved and encrusted diadem had been.

"What was that?" Dean asked, still catching his breath.

"Fiendfyre, cursed fire. It is one of the things that will destroy horcruxes but I never would have risked using it because it virtually uncontrollable," Hermione said softly, all of them still staring, the realization sinking in that there was only one horcrux left.

Suddenly there was a scuffling at the end of the deserted hallway. Two figures were backed around the corner and towards them. They were dueling two masked men who were slowly pressing down on them. The red hair was instantly recognizable.

"Hello, Minister!" bellowed the slightly shorter one with tight, curly hair. "Did I mention I'm resigning?" and as he finished, he released a brown jagged bolt that hit the man in the chest and left him doubling over, scrabbling at his front.

"You're joking, Pierce!" said the other Weasley, Sam thought it might be Fred. He hit the man he was dueling with three bolts back to back and the black robed figure fell stiff as a board on his face. Fred turned to face his older brother, just recently returned to the fold of the family.

"You actually are joking, Pierce... I don't think I have heard you joke since-"

Before Fred could finish, the laugh still plastered across his face, their world exploded. es, stone, and ash were lung through the air. After what felt like eternity, Sam registered he had stopped moving. Stiff, sore, and considerably bloody, he pulled himself out of the rubble. He heard shifting and coughing around him that meant at least some had survived the mighty blast.

Finally surfacing, Sam saw Dean and Castiel pulling Hermione and Ron to their feet. Harry was shaking his head as he sat up. Percy was a little dazed and he scrabbled in the wreckage nearest him. After a few seconds, his screams ripped through everything.

"Fred! Fred! Get up! NO! FRED!" the screaming stopped and horrible agony filled sobs came from the two bodies crouched on the floor. In Percys' lap lay the bloody mangled body of his little brother, eyes staring but empty, lips smiling but silent

No one moved. No one spoke. They could hear crashing and screaming but it seemed worlds away. Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at the lifeless body of their friend. Why were there still sounds? Or flashes of light? How could anything exist after Fred died - it couldn't be.

Reality crashed back around them as a body swooped by the hole, shooting a blue bolt at them. It hit the wall, shaking them all back to their senses. Understanding their loss but the need for speed, Sam and Dean each crouched up the shoulders of the fallen warrior, lifting him up to flee. As they started to follow Hermione, who was leading the way, they heard Harry, Ron and Percy firing off shots. Dean glanced over his shoulder quickly and wished he hadn't; a huge, horrible spider the size of a Volkswagon was pursuing them through the halls. Dozens of spells later, it finally stilled under the assault.

The group ran through a few more short hallways before Hermione stopped, catching her breath in another mostly abandoned hallway. Dean and Sam carefully placed Fred in a niche in the wall where something used to be, probably a suit of armor. Dean carefully crouched by the broken boy, sliding his eyelids closed with dirty fingers. Harry and the Weasleys caught up with them, tear tracks tracing through the blood and dirt on their faces. A man in a black robe ran past the edge of the hall at the end and Percy, in a grief driven rage tore after the man, growling and screaming. Ron made to follow him but Castiel and Hermione grabbed his arms, holding him back.

"LET ME GO! THEY KILLED MY BROTHER!" and it took everything Sam and Dean had not to join Ron in his pursuit, understanding the devastating pain he was feeling.

"RON! RON! Stop! We will fight, but we need to stay focused and fight to get to the snake!" Hermione was shouting, crying in her pleas.


	23. Chapter 23

"Do it," Hermione sighed turning to Harry, who looked at her confused. "Look inside him. You've done it before. We need to know where he is." Harry scrunched his brows before closing his eyes tightly. His breathing slowed and he seemed to be distant.

Dean looked at him, nervous.

"Those flashes he has... they are from Voldemort's mind. He gets them when Voldemort is emotional. Found out a few years ago. He can dip in if he is careful although we are pretty sure that Voldemort can sense it," Hermione explained softly, leaving the brothers with matching looks of shock.

Harry blinked hard, several times. "He's in the Shrieking Shack."

"He's... he's not even fighting?" Ron spit.

"He knows what we are up to. He doesn't think he has to, he knows I will come for him. He just sent Malfoy to fetch Snape," Harry said resigned.

"What are we waiting for?" Dean said, understanding the task before them. Hermione, Ron and Harry looked up at him, appreciating his fight in this dark moment. Nodding seriously Harry turned in the hall to lead the crew on the path straightest toward the Whomping Willow and then into the Shrieking Shack.

As they left their abandoned little hall, the sights and sounds of the bloody battle slammed into them. Everywhere they ran, beloved friends and family were fighting and dying against evil forces. But they were giving them hell right back! Harry flung his arm out at one point to stop his friends from being trampled by a fleet of desks being led by Professor McGonagall.

They carried on, firing here and there to lend a hand when they could. They ran past a hallway when Sam did a double take. Over the body of a now pale, sandy hair girl, a creature crouched, feasting. It looked like a man who was nearly transformed into a werewolf or a werewolf that was still part man. He looked up at the shadow of the tall figure that was staring at him in disgust. And he smiled horribly, blood dripping from his mouth.

Sam frowned and raised his gun, sinking 5 shots straight into the head of the creature. Dull, lifeless eyes stared from the shocked face at the youngest Winchester before it fell on its face. Sam rejoined the group, fighting to keep his stomach from emptying. He was already exhausted and the more he saw and the more he went through, the heavier everything became.

Coming up on the mayhem that filled the great hall, Harry's heartbroken voice rent the air again.

"HAGRID NO!" If the boy had been running before, he was practically flying now as he pursued a bubbling mass of black that was bearing away the body of a large, bearded man. Dean blinked and realized it was a swarm of spiders like the one from several floors above. Harry was running flat out through the doors in pursuit. Dean poured on extra speed and came along side him, throwing his arm out across his chest.

"Harry! Harry, stop," Dean pleaded, understanding how much he wanted to save his friends. Harry blinked hard at him, swallowing harder before he nodded. The others caught up with them and Ron turned and led them to an ancient looking willow tree that was twisting and flailing violently. They stood there a moment as Hermione magicked a branch across the ground, bringing it to rest on a knobbly bump at the base of the tree. Instantly the tree froze.

Harry bolted for a small hole at the base of the tree and disappeared into it. Ron, Dean, Sam, Hermione and Castiel poured after him. It was tight in that small, earthen tunnel. Harry put his finger to his lips before he pulled his old cloak that had been balled up in his pocket out and swathed himself in it. He vanished before their eyes. They had only the deep impressions he made in the soft earth to follow.

Eventually they came to a small, covered opening, through which voices could be heard.

"I have a problem, Severus," and for the first time the brothers and Castiel heard the voice of the wizard they feared to name. Pure evil and silky malice oozed from the wizard.

"My Lord?" replied a deeper, oily voice that held just the tiniest fragment of fear.

"Why doesn't this wand work for me, Severus?"

"My - my Lord?" Severus muttered. "I do not understand. You - you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."

"No, I have performed my usual magic. _I_ am extraordinary, but this... no. It has not shown me any of the wonders it promised. I feel no difference from my old wand. None at all," Voldemorts voice purred. Harry could see the scene unfolding before him, his eyes on the huge snake coiling in its enchanted bubble near its master.

"I have thought about this, Severus. Do you know why I summoned you?"

"No, my Lord but I beg you let me return to battle. I can find and bring you Potter," the other man begged.

The conversation continued back and forth, with Voldemort slowly revealing his purpose and the other man begging intermittently, trying to maintain a strong facade.

"While you live Severus, it will never truly be mine!" Voldemort's voice rose as he came to the end of his banter. There was a loud sharp hiss and suddenly they could hear a heavy thud followed by more hissing and painful yells and moans. Only Harry watched in horror as the huge snake ripped apart his former Potions master.

With a crack and pop, the bleeding man lay alone on the floor. Harry roughly pushed open the grate and despite himself, went to kneel by the man that was responsible for the death of their beloved Headmaster. The rest of them gathered at his feet. As Harry knelt, Snape seized the front of his robes, wheezing he said, "Take it... take it."

It was then they all noticed that in addition to the blood that oozed from the many gashes on his body, there was a soft, silvery white substance leaking from his eyes, his mouth, his nose.

With a whip of her wand, Hermione handed an enchanted vial to Harry, who pressed the glass against the skin of the dying man. The cloudy white substance pooled into the bottle, filling it about three fourths of the way up. When the flow ended, Harry clicked the stopper back on. When the white vapor had ceased, the greasy black haired man heaved, "Look... at... me..." Harry turned his emerald green eyes on the black-brown eyes of Snape. For a moment love flickered in a deep, hidden place. Then the eyes were cold and empty once more.


	24. Chapter 24

As they all stood over another fallen body, the same horrible, evil voice echoed through the air, through their very being.

 _"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."_

For a long heavy moment, no one moved. Not knowing what to think, they just stared at the body of the man before them that had been savagely murder by the one he swore allegiance to. Finally, Ron broke the silence.

"We should get back to the castle and... help," without needing to say it, they knew he was thinking of family. No one said anything in reply but they silently turned and went back the way they had come through the tunnel.

Emerging into the velvety night, the heroes stared at the still battle field around them. Small bundles dotted the lawn leading up to the castle. Silent and purposeful, they approached the great stone steps. There was no sound, no motion in the entry of the castle. Everything from the wreckage to the shadows seemed frozen in time.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione whispered, looking around. They moved toward the light coming from the Great Hall, stopping horror-struck in the doorway.

Survivors were huddled together, leaning silently on one another. Some let fat tears roll down their faces, others stared blankly with unseeing eyes. Wounded were gathered on the raised steps at the front. The school nurse, Madam Pomfrey was scurrying determinedly from one body to another, trying to easy the pain and fix what she could. Castiel squeezed Hermione's hand softly and walked to the dais. He spoke to the healing witch, whose eyes widen quickly. She nodded swiftly in reply and went back to her work. Meanwhile, Castiel set after her, healing the wounds that magic had not inflicted as best he could and pouring all the hope he had into the weary hearts he touched.

Stretching the length of the hall, right in the center lay the carefully placed bodies of the fallen. Halfway down there was a cluster of bodies. Mrs. Weasley lay across the body of her son, shaking with sorrow. Mr. Weasley laid a hand on her back as the tears fell thick and fast from his eyes. George knelt at the head of his brother, agony twisting his face as his misery poured from him.

Taking a deep breath together, they moved into the Hall. Ginny fell slowly into Harry's arms, body shaking silently. Ron dropped to his knees near Percy, the two of them clinging to one another. As Dean and Sam followed a few steps behind their friends, not wanting to interfere on their grief, their eyes flicked to the side. Dean grabbed Sam's arm stopping him and they both looked down at the still faces a few feet from the Weasleys. In another world they looked like they were sleeping. But Tonks and Remus laid too still for sleep, hands loosely reaching towards one another even in death.

They felt a tightness in their chests. Carefully they arranged the fallen couple, silently mourning their deaths. Only meeting them, they still felt they knew them from Harry, Ron and Hermione's stories. Slowly, the memory of Harry telling them that they had recently had a son, Teddy. And their hearts broke for another child orphaned by evil. Taking a deep breath, they rose to their feet. Behind them they saw the slow, stiff body of their friend move out of the hall, heading who knows where. Dean nodded at Sam, who turned to follow Harry.

Not knowing what to do but wanting them to understand his sorrow, Dean moved toward the group and rested his hand on Rons shoulder. Ron nodded, understanding him without words. The family continued to weep as Dean moved on toward Castiel, feeling so helpless in all this despair. He approached his friend, eyes begging for a task.

"Those wounds won't heal but they need dressed," Castiel said, nodding towards a pile of white bandages and a cluster of people holding angry, bloody body parts. Grateful for something to do with his hands, Dean set about bandaging the bodies of the fighters.

\o/o\o/

Sam had followed Harry, who had turned to look at him with grief filled eyes, nodding at his company. Harry stopped at the inset statue of a huge creature. Still getting used to this surprising new world, Sam took a quick step backward when the statue said, "Password?"

"Dumbledore," slid out of Harry's mouth and Sam watched awestruck as the stone structure slid to the side revealing a spiral staircase behind it. Slowly the two headed up the steps. At the top, Harry opened a smooth, dark oak door and Sam followed him into one of the most wondrous rooms he had ever seen. Small instruments of silver and gold filled glass cabinets and books lined every other wall of the circular office. There were massive frames that Sam assumed were usually filled with pictures but at the moment they were all empty.

Harry walked mechanically over to a small silver basin in an ornate wooden cabinet. Unstoppering the vial, he dumped the silvery white cloud from the body of the murdered man into the dish. It looked like a mixture of smoke and water swirling in shades of black, white and gray. Harry turned to look at Sam with weary hopelessness in his eyes. Wanting to stand by his friend, Sam clasped him on the shoulder with a firm hand. Turning, Harry dipped his face into the mixture, Sam still holding his shoulder, startled.

They tumbled through space and clouds before they landed, staring around them. Standing at the end of a lonely looking playground, there were three shadowy figures in the distance. In fact, as Sam looked around, everything seemed to have a washed out, shadowy appearance to it. He furrowed his brows, looking at Harry as they stepped towards the figures on the playground.

"We are in a Pensive. It holds memories so you can watch them again. We are watching Snapes memories," Harry said in a soft, defeated voice. Sam stayed by his side as they watched to the life of this small, seedy looking boy play out. Every so often the world around them would blur like smoke before becoming solid again, showing another scene, another memory.

Not fully understanding the meaning of all the scenes, Sam stood by his friend as he watched shock, anger, understanding, and regret play across his friends face. They were watching the man that had just died talk to the portrait of a man that looked very similar to the barkeep that had saved them. Sam assumed that must be Dumbledore. After their brief conversation, the world smeared gray again but when it refocused, they were standing back in the office and Harry was shaking where he stood.


	25. Chapter 25

Harry didn't move as Sam stood next to him, waiting for the turning tilting world to stand still. He had watched this little abused boy fall in love with a beautiful girl with fiery hair and eyes just like Harrys. While they had been friends, he had hurt her and she had fallen into the arms of another, a man with untidy black hair and a thin angular face. They had married and had a son named Harry. But that had been short lived...

And the pale weedy looking little boy that had grown into a slimy, severe man mourned her death, a death he had tried to prevent by betraying his master and groveling at the feet of a younger Dumbledore. Even after his death, Snape stayed true to the promise he had made, to follow Dumbledore in secret turning spy against Voldemort. Dumbledore had asked Snape to kill him to spare Malfoy the damage, so he had. Dumbledore had asked him to secretly deliver the sword to Harry, so he had. And Dumbledore had asked him, only when Harry was ready, to tell him that he was the last horcrux, the one that Voldemort never meant to make. That while Harry lived, a piece of Voldemort would always survive. So Snape had.

Sam understood. Harry was shaking violently, lowering himself to sit on the steps. What he hated, what he had spent all his life fighting against... was part of him. Sam connected in a way no one else could. Seating himself on the step by Harry, Sam spoke softly. Although the brothers had told the trio parts of their story, Sam never shared the deep connection that had pulled him down the road to Lillith and Lucifer; the demon blood. He talked about the darkness he felt and what giving into it had gotten him. Through everything, he just wanted Harry to know he understood what it felt like.

And he understood what Harry had to do.

"Sam... I don't want to die. But I don't want the people I love to hurt anymore. I have to..." Harry started, looking desperately at his friend.

"You have to do what is right to protect them," Sam said firmly, giving Harry the courage that he needed.

"I can't..." Harry was thinking of all the faces he would see on that long walk to the forest.

"Use the cloak, I will cover for you as best I can. Don't stop - it doesn't make it easier," Sam said recalling how devastating the few seconds with Dean had been before free falling in the pit with the devil.

Rubbing his face hard, Harry stared at his shoes for a long moment before getting up and sighing heavily. The long silvery cloak appeared in his hands and he started to pull it over his shoulders. Sam stood next to the young man walking to the firing squad. He knew how heavy those steps would feel and how much doubt would pour into Harry between now and then - doubt not driven because he was unsure, but because he was afraid.

"Harry is there anything..." he said knowing it was feeble.

"Make sure you kill the snake. And just...just tell them... when its over... why. And that I love them; and I'm sorry," his jaw clenched on the last few words and his emerald eyes brimmed with held back tears. So much the same, all Sam could do was roughly hug Harry. Letting him go, Sam nodded, leading the way out of the office, listening the soft rustle of Harry behind him. The swish of the cloak followed him almost to the hall and as Sam stepped back into the Great Hall. The door to the castle barely nudged open and froze. The battered figure of Neville of froze for a moment outlined in the dim light. He nodded softly before continuing into the hall.

No one looked up at Neville and Sam. Except Dean, who hustled toward his brother, confused that he was alone.

"Where is Harry?" Sam looked at him, willing him to understand without words. His face tightened and his jaw clenched and Sam knew he understood.

"Dammit and you just let him go. Sam what were you..." Dean began angrily.

"Dean - he is dancing with his own devils. There was no other way," Sam quietly explained why Harry had to do it, that there was a piece of Voldemort that would always survive otherwise. From the shadows near the wall where the brothers were huddled, a slim red-headed girl walked slowly toward them and Sam's heart fell to the floor.

"He's gone to the forest, hasn't he?" Ginny said in such a frail voice and the brothers would have given the world to have been able to lie to her. But their silence was enough and slow small tears streamed down her face. Hermione had noticed Sam was back and made her way over. She put her arms carefully around the silently sobbing Ginny, looking confused at the boys. No one said anything and Hermione rested her head on Ginny, trying to comfort her, only guessing at what sadness was still to come.

Time moved slowly over the next half hour. Sam and Dean, anxious and needing to move, set about the fields in front of the school. Together they carried the rest of the dead into the hall. Some bodies were small and frail; like dolls. Some were grown men and women left staring blindly at the world. Some were so damaged the brothers didn't try to discern much, keeping their eyes up as they carefully put the remains with the others.

When the fallen were gathered and the wounded treated, everyone sat in the Great Hall, a dark heavy weight hanging above them.

\o/o\o/

Dawn was not far off when that sick, penetrating voice shattered their reveries, invading them.

 _"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you shall join me in the new world we will build together."_

Fresh tears and looks of panic followed the voice and for a long moment, no one moved. Anger boiled in the brothers and they looked at one another, determined to finish that wizard if they died trying. Resolutely, they headed for the door and slowly made their way to the front of the castle. Bodies shifted and all those that could follow them from the hall poured numbly into the twilight.

Lining in front of the school, dark robed figures stood like a sentinel of doom. At the forefront, a tall pale man strode, the glittering ball containing the snake hovering near him. There was a huge figure with chains coming off of him carrying a small, still body.

As she cleared the first step, a heart wrenching, deeply broken scream came from McGonagall.

"NOOO!"

The spell broken, other grief stricken yells of "NO!" and "Harry!" pierced the air.

"SILENCE!" and that sickening, silky voice poked the Winchesters like hot wires. "You see? Harry Potter is dead!" and he paused as the ranks behind him howled and cheered. "Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

"He beat you!" and Ron's voice ended the spell once more. The crowds on the steps of the castle started to yell and shout more in support before a huge crack restored silence.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds, trying to save himself..."

From the ranks in front of the castle a bloody figure in a sweater lunged forward with his wand. Voldemort knocked him to his knees, an island alone between those in front of the castle and the monster.

"And who is this?" he asked amused.

"Neville Longbottom," a disgusting, sharp female voice cracked from a mad looking witch. "The son of those Aurors, remember?" she purred.

"Ah, yes, I remember. But; you are pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?" Voldemort queried.

"So?" Neville spat.

And Voldemort tried more persuasive words on the boy, to which Neville gave more hostile replies. With each reply, the crowds behind him became braver and more resistant.

Voldemort snapped and a huge crash was heard from high above. Heads jerking up, they watched an old battered hat fly toward them. Voldemort spat more hateful words and the hat caught flame as it crashed onto Nevilles head - he seemed unable to move.

Blood boiling and panic rising, Sam and Dean whipped their arms up unloading the bullets remaining in their guns at the white faced, slit eyed villain.

Hastily Voldemort deflected the bullets, two of them sinking straight into his followers. They crumpled and Voldemort never even glanced back.

The wand of the evil wizard was arched, pointing at the youngest Winchester.

"CRUCIO!" and the pain that ripped through him was indescribable. Sam stumbled back a step, gasping.

But like his brother, the fury burned in front of him, anchoring him beyond the pain. With wrath in his eyes he stared straight at the face of the murderer.

"Get bent!"

Voldemort stared at him dumbly for a fraction of a second; possibly the most important moment in the whole fight. For in that span, Neville broke free of the Body Bind. In a motion as fluid as light he whipped the burning hat off his head, other hand catching a gleaming, ruby crusted sword that had fallen from it. Swinging hard, Neville cut into the glittering ball containing the massive snake just near his master. The body of the serpent was sliced clean in two and its corpse fell hard to the ground, crumbling like ash.


	26. Chapter 26

Chaos exploded!

When Neville had killed the snake, a huge rustling from the forest had broken forth. Stampeding from the shadows, hundreds of centaurs where raining arrows down on the shocked Death Eaters. Amidst them was a massive, stumbling creature that was shouting "HAGGER!" as he ran toward the castle.

Bodies started running everywhere as the Death Eaters fled and fought this new attack and the inhabitants of Hogwarts launched their own attack. Sam and Dean ventured into the fray, taking down Death Eaters that were out of sorts with swift blades.

"Dean!" Sam yelled and he jerked his head to the large man that had been holding Harry's body moments before. The man was empty handed and looking around frantically. The brothers continued to fight and shrugged at one another. Maybe they weren't the only ones who knew death on a personal level.

Suddenly from overhead, huge skeletal creatures that vaguely resembled horses and huge sharp beaked beasts veered and careened towards the black cloaks causing considerable damage. Slowly the fight was edged into the stone walls. Dean was shocked when more small wrinkly bodies that resembled the fallen elf Dobby flooded into the halls, hacking and slicing at any part of a Death Eater they could reach.

The tides seemed to be turning and one by one the strongest of Voldemorts followers were brought to heel. Finally, in the center of the great hall, Voldemort himself and his most loyal Bellatrix were blasting away. Bellatrix was squared against a fierce and terrifying Mrs. Weasley. Voldemort meanwhile, dueled against McGonagall, a potbellied but strong wizard and a tall formidable black wizard. Their exchange was phenomenally quick and the diverted bolts left deep scars where they landed.

Faces turned toward the duels, unable to intervene, still subduing the captured. Bellatrixs' eyes gleamed madly.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you? When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?" she taunted.

"You - will - never - touch - our - children - again!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed, punctuating her yells with deadly wandwork. And in nearly slow motion, the eyes watching saw Mrs. Weasleys' green bolt slide under the outstretched arm of the black clad witch. Her taunting smile froze on her lips as her eyes dimmed and her skeletal body heaped onto the floor.

Voldemort exploded with rage at her death and he slammed back his opponents in an explosive blast. He wheeled around to face Molly Weasley, death in his eyes.

From thin air, the body of the Boy Who Lived appeared and he screamed, "PROTEGO!" A shield guarded the woman who loved him like a son from a death blow. Cheers and bellows echoed through the hall as their fallen hero stepped up to square off against a slack faced Voldemort. Dean wore a self-satisfied smile, like he had known that Death wouldn't take Harry the whole time.

"No one help!" Harry shouted. "It has to be me!" he yelled, eyeing the villain.

"Potter, you can't be serious. It isn't your style. Tell me, who will be your shield today?" Voldemort hissed.

"No one. The horcruxes are gone. Neither can live while the other survives..." and back and forth it went. Voldemort slandered and belittled Harry, accusing him of hiding in the shadow of greater wizards and benefiting from dumb luck. Harry calmly rebuttaled, fear leaking into his opponents eyes. Slowly they circled and Harry mentioned Dumbledore. Then the story of Snapes true allegiance came to light. Voldemort shrieked, brandishing the Elder Wand, the unbeatable wand. He claimed in spite of all things, it would end Harry.

"But that wand still isn't working properly for you... because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. There was another that disarmed Dumbledore that night on the tower."

Understanding, terror, and fury lit through Voldemorts eyes.

"Draco Malfo disarmed the headmaster. Draco; who I overpowered weeks ago in Malfoy Manor. I took his wand. It's allegiance changed."

And for the first time, doubt blossomed in the other mans' eyes.

"So it all comes down to this? Does that wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does..."

In the span of a breath, red golden light from a rising sun, sizzling green shards from the pale white hand, and a thick red bolt from the black haired boy lit up the room.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Something like cannon fire echoed and all the glares melded in a bright golden light. Majestically, the Elder Wan exploded from the hand of its wielder, arking towards its true master. With that same athletic agility, Harry snatched the wand.

The green light that had erupted from it had rebounded and the broken body of the wizard all once feared to name crashed to the floor, dead.


	27. Chapter 27

There was deep and painful damage to be healed after the fall of the Dark Lord. The wizarding community set about righting wrongs and beginning fresh. Picking up the pieces and filling in the gaping holes left in the wake of this war would take time, but there were so many willing hands that the work became an act of healing; an act of love.

The brothers decided to stay with their friends in those first days after the battle. All crammed into the Burrow, they quickly learned why love held that house up. Even in the wake of Fred's death, there was something amazing that had nothing to do with magic that ran through the wood of that impossible building. Not knowing anything about them, Dean, Sam and Castiel had been welcomed into the fold; found beds and niches to stay in and be loved.

Two days after the battle, they had buried many of the fallen warriors, Fred among them. Still grieving, the family had wept soundlessly around the fire consuming him. Sam, Dean, and Cas stood there with them, never moving, never questioning. George, however, did not weep. He didn't speak, he barely moved. He seemed numb to the world; lost and looking for something he would never find.

"George, I know that you aren't okay so I am not going to ask. I know how much this hurts, believe me. But if you need to talk to anyone..." Sam said softly, speaking only to the brother left behind. George looked at him, and nodded, not smiling or saying anything. Understanding, Sam squeezed his shoulder before moving on to leave George to his heartbreak.

Hours later they were all squished around mismatched tables and chairs that had been magicked into the over grown yard surrounding the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley spent the days before Fred's burial distant and listless, holding small articles of clothing and an old, well-worn family album. But standing beside the grave of her son, the hands of all the other children that still needed her had held her and comforted her. And the deep hole in her heart started to heal. Although nothing would ever fill the void that Fred had left behind, seeing to and caring for the other red heads milling through her home saved her.

Which is why, after much hushing of helpers and several stern looks towards interference, she had made a meal that would feed twice the people there. And even if she was a little quieter, hugging a little longer, and perhaps lecturing a little less, she seemed content to be surrounded by those that still filled her heart.

Dean and Sam couldn't remember the last time they had felt so peaceful... and happy. Despite mourning their losses, the victory over the darkness that had covered their world was monumental. And worth celebrating. Soon fire-whiskey, butterbeer and other feel-good drinks had started to move around the table. Before long voices started to carry; voices telling stories. Stories of their adventures of the last year, memories of those they had lost, hopes for the days to come.

During the dinner, Mrs. Weasley had been staring hard at the blue-eyed angel hand-in-hand with the young witch she looked on as a daughter. She knew her sons enough to know that Ron had always carried a torch for Hermione and she had hoped that Hermione felt the same. But despite wanting to dislike this man and judge the young witch for her feelings, she couldn't help but see the happiness, the love, and the trust that looped around them like Christmas lights. Ron noticed his mother studying the two carefully, as Hermione was sharing one of the stories from their time at Grimmauld Place. He stood slowly and made his way over to his mother, wrapping his long arms around her shoulders and resting his head next to hers.

"It's okay, mum," was all he said but the sincerity in his voice washed over her. She reached up and patted her sons hands, turning to place a kiss on his cheek.

"But are you okay?" she asked looking into his eyes.

"I love her - and that is why it is okay. Because she is happy and he is so good for her. I'll be okay; I'm a young war hero after all," he finished with vigor, smiling from ear to ear. And she couldn't help but stare at her son; not a year ago he had been this little boy too tall for his pants, so worried about making a name for himself. Now he was a man; understanding the sacrifice that love meant, seeing hope beyond disappointment. And she kissed him on the cheek again, contentedly leaning into him, silently giving thanks for him for the 100th time that night.

\o/o\o/

The next day had been one of the best most people in that house could remember. There were meetings that needed scheduled, problems to be solved, things that needed taken care of. But nobody cared. Waking late as the morning sun was blazing, every one in that house was fully determined to fill the day with nothing and feel all the better for it.

Mrs. Weasleys kept the kettle full of strong coffee and people spent hours talking and laughing. Visitors popped in and out of the house throughout the day. Some stayed to talk, like McGonagall, and others just checked in or said hello. At some point Harry and Ginny disappeared for a few hours and when they returned, Dean noticed, smiling to himself, that Harry's shirt wasn't buttoned properly.

Needing fresh air, the teens drug their guests up to the field they used as a Quidditch pitch. Not over eager to get back on a broom, Dean had balked at the suggestion. But after enough teasing and taunting, he had caved figuring between Hermione and Cas, hopefully someone could fix him up when he fell.

Both the brothers enjoyed the very different feeling of a broom when not fleeing for their lives from unstoppable cursed fire. Still not entirely comfortable with it, they spent a great deal of time just hovering around watching the others play. George had trudged out to the pitch with them, only because they had practically carried him. Once in the air, a lightness seemed to leak into his heart. Still not smiling or talking much, he at least moved more and seemed focused on the world around him.

Dean quickly learned that Harry was quite a Quidditch player. He watched the black haired boy spin and twirl and speed around with such grace that, despite his deep fear of heights, he found himself going just a little faster and just a little higher.

Sam overcame the learning curve much faster than his brother and before they trudged, sweaty and smiling back to the house, he had managed a passing drill with the siblings without falling to his death.

\o/o\o/

After nearly a week in the Burrow, the world started to move again, pulling them back into the everyday. Wanting to stay in this warm home that had welcome them in, Sam and Dean were reluctant to remember Kevin and all the work they had waiting for them back at the bunker. Finally, they announced at dinner, chowder with all kinds of goodness simmered in, that they would be leaving the next day. After the protests and rebuttals, this decision was accepted and they spent that last night much the same way they had spent every other night; talking, sipping cups, and playing games, living a little slice of normal, well at least happy life.

Accounting for the time difference, it wasn't until lunch that the brothers cleaned up their areas and made preparations to leave. Just as in the bunker, hugs and handshakes, fist bumps and good byes were passed around between these muggle brothers, the angel, and the witches and wizards that had taken them in. Cas reached out to rest his hand on Dean's shoulder while Sam had his hand on his brothers shoulder. With a soft flutter they disappeared from the brightly lit lawn of the Burrow and appeared in the cold atrium of the bunker. These walls that had felt so much like home not a month ago seemed a little colder for the lack of all the red hair running around.

As they sighed deeply, preparing to dig back into the hunt on how to close the gates of hell, the heavy metal door at the top of the bunker slammed open and the trio plus one walked in grinning.

The sound had scared the three just returning home so they whipped around to face the door, guns drawn. Eyes wide, they froze in that position as the newcomers faltered a moment before continuing in. As the door closed, the boys snapped to their senses and stowed the weapons.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked confused.

"Helping you all of course," Ron said casually.

"But your family..." Dean started.

"Is just fine," Ron finished.

"But you guys just..." Sam tried.

"Finished our mission, with your help I might add," Harry said happily.

"We can't ask you..." Dean gave it one more go.

"You didn't. And we aren't asking permission. You are hunting for clues on how to solve a mystery right? We have some experience in that area," Hermione shut the oldest brother up, mimicking the same speech Sam had used against them.

And just as it had comforted, and slightly terrified the trio, the brothers enjoyed the idea of fighting this battle next to friends... no, _family._

Smiling, resigned to losing this argument, Dean rested his eyes on the extra person; the thin, pale girl with long red hair and deep brown eyes. He knew how much Harry cared for this girl, Ginny. And his gut twisted painfully at the thought of throwing her waist deep into this chaos. She looked back up at the brother; in his short stay at the burrow she had become fond of him. Perhaps it was the devil-may-care attitude he had, much like Bill, or the tangible excitement he showed at challenges, like Charlie, or his humor of a five year old, like the twins. She already knew the thoughts behind those dark greens eyes.

"Don't worry, Dean. I'm not staying. Harry just wanted to show me where it was - in case..." and her cheeks flushed as her voice tapered off. Relief settled over the brothers as they smiled and nodded.

"I think I'll strip down the apparation singeing spell - just in case," Hermione said, eyes full of mischief.


	28. Chapter 28

Weeks passed in the bunker, with the inhabitants falling into that same comfortable routine. Sam and Dean worked a few intermittent jobs to keep sane. Sometimes Cas or Harry or Ron or Hermione, or a mix of the latter tagged along.

On a morning they were all in the bunker, seated to another breakfast, courtesy of Dean, Kevin came sprinting in.

"Ifoundthenexttrial," he sputtered without breathing. Everyone around the table looked up at him alarm, hands freezing halfway between plates and open mouths.

"Whoa, Kev, man. Slow down," Dean said standing slowly. Kevin took a few deep breaths; clearly he had run all the way from the study he worked in.

"I...found... the next trial," he said slowly and the atmosphere in the room changed in a moment; electric tension sparking. No one spoke.

"An innocent soul has to be rescued from Hell and delivered unto Heaven," and still no one spoke.

"Rescue a soul from Hell? Like actually... Go to Hell? How - how do you get a soul unto Heaven? I mean, how do you even get a soul out of Hell?" Sam spoke the thoughts filling every mind.

"We're gonna need an expert," Dean looked at his brother darkly.

\o/o\o/

Hours later, the brothers, Cas and the trio stood on a long stretch of abandoned dirt road right where it intersected with an old gravel road. Dean rose from his crouch after covering the earth back over a curiously filled Altoids container. While driving in the Impala the brothers had explained they were going to summon a demon; a crossroads demon. The trio had been very quiet.

They stood in the bright afternoon sunlight, squinting around the emptiness, waiting. Suddenly, a short black man with shaved hair appeared out of no where.

"Winchesters," he spat as his eyes flashed red. Ron took a step back at the sight. "And friends," he added eyeing the teens.

"What happened to the hot chicks?" Dean smirked.

"I'm out of here," the demon said turning to leave.

"Maybe not," Sam said smiling. Looking down, the demon recognized the huge red Devil's Trap spray painted on the gravel road. Rolling his eyes, the demon grimaced as the brothers smiled.

\o/o\o/

Not far from the crossroads there was a huge old abandon factory set way off the road. Dean had frowned as he watched the kids step out of the car to follow them.

"Guys maybe you should..."

"Dean, we aren't sitting in the car like kids," Ron huffed.

"I'm not tryin to call you kids. It's just this form of... conversation might be unpleasant," and Dean couldn't help it when his eyes flicked to Hermione. She was almost back to normal after her night with Bellatrix. But scrapping noises and screams still set her to shaking; an after effect from long exposure to the curses she was tortured with, according to the matronly Miss Pomfrey.

"I'm fine," she said with as much strength as she could muster, hand already in the angels as the two were nearly inseparable.

After wresting the demon into the rune lined trunk, the brothers hauled him in enchanted chains into the building and set to work.

 _"_ I ain't got nothing," the creature spat and Dean paced behind him, face stern and dumped more of the holy water from his flask on the demon. His skin sizzled and he screamed like it was hot oil. Sam could see how white Hermione was and he was eager to move this interrogation along.

"You know, wouldn't it be a lot easier just to tell us how to enter Hell, uh, uninvited?"

"It's... a secret," the tied up man murmured, stalling for time.

"We promise we won't tell anyone," Dean smiled darkly. At the stoic silence of the monster, Dean set the flask down and suddenly an old blade with weird markings on the side was in his hands. Fear lit up the demons eyes.

"No! Wait. I can't. It's forbidden, man..." Dean took another step towards the chair as Sam splashed more holy water on him."Ahhh! Please... All right, look... For a price, y'all can be smuggled across Hell's border," he broke, panting.

"By who?" Dean growled.

"Rogue reapers. They got secret ways, in and out. Not just Hell - the Veil, Heaven," the demon divulged.

"Rogue reapers smuggling people?" Sam said concerned.

"People, souls..."

"So, what? They're like hell coyotes?" Sam questioned further.

The demon didn't respond as he looked up at the brothers.

"Now kill me. Come on, man. Better death than Crowley," he pleaded.

"Good point. But first you're gonna tell us... everything," Dean purred as he flicked the blade across the demons skin.

\o/o\o/

It was a long quiet drive back to the bunker. Sam and Dean had coaxed enough information out of the demon to form a plan; before they had plunged that ancient knife into him. They were going to track down one of these rogue reapers and slip into hell to spring a soul unto heaven.

Not planning to start till the next night, they ambled out of the car walking back into the bunker. The heaviness and darkness of Dean's heart pushed him to stroll to the high cabinet after everyone else had shuffled off to bed. Pulling a tall bottle of amber liquid, half empty, down, he braced his arms on the counter, thinking about the day.

Working a demon, heck, working anything over had never bothered him. Not before hell. After his stint in hell, he played the same record over in his mind. _It's a monster. It's not human. It's not the same..._

But no matter how you shook it, that thing was in a meat suit with a soul. And when that demon died, so did that soul. Dean always comforted himself by saying he was sure they had "gone to a better place". But after his experience with heaven and its host, that was as helpful as it had once been.

He splashed the drink into a short glass, downing it quickly. Again and again he filled and drained the glass. It was when he lost count that he heard the footsteps behind him and whipped around to see Harry walking into the kitchen. For some reason, Dean slid the bottle behind him, but he wasn't fooling anyone.

"Hey man, you alright?" Harry asked, concern all over his face.

"Yeah, great. Why?" Dean asked with forced chipper.

"Well, that wasn't really a beach vacation," Harry joked, trying to talk about the heavy subject in a way that hurt less.

"All part of the job," Dean recited the same line he had a thousand times.

"Yeah... what we will do to get things done," Harry mumbled darkly and Dean wondered what kind of skeletons lay in this boys closet. They didn't speak for a long heavy moment.

"She's okay, you know," and Dean knew he was talking about Hermione. He shifted self-consciously, the young man getting just a little too close to what was killing Dean.

"She understands why. She knows its important," Harry continued. Dean looked down at his hands, just the slightest bit of blood still smeared into the deep cracks of his knuckles. And his will broke. He rubbed his face hard.

"All I could see was that twisted witch carving up Hermione as I worked on him. Every time he screamed or yelled, I heard her. I know it sounds stupid but I could help but see how much I had in common with someone I know she hates," Dean prattled off, just a little tipsy. Harry sat thoughtfully for a long moment.

"Hermione doesn't hate Bellatrix," and Dean looked up at him, "I mean, they would never be pen pals. But Hermione doesn't hate her. She might have at one point but I think that hate ate Hermione up. She pities her and the damage that she did to herself - to be in such a dark place. And Dean - I don't think that Hermione sees any similarities between you and her. She tortured Hermione for evil purposes in a sadistic way..." Harry finished.

Dean knew he was trying to make him feel better, but that rock in his gut just got heavier. Because deep down, there was a little part of him that Dean kept chained and caged that enjoyed it too. And that made him feel all the worse.


	29. Chapter 29

The next night, Impala loaded to the nines with anything and everything they could think of, the crew rolled down a dark, wet alley hours from home. Through the mist of the drizzle, they could just see a dingy yellow cab sitting in the alley. There was a tall dark haired man standing near the cab. Parking a few feet back, they poured out of the car, Sam and Dean taking the lead position.

"Ajay. Need to talk to you for a sec," Dean barked through the rain.

"You know my name," the stranger said not really sounding surprised.

"And what you do. We want to do business," Sam continued seriously.

"But you are mortal - flesh and blood... most of you," the taxi driver said eyeing Cas.

"But if we wanted to cross the border into Hell -" Sam started.

"With a visitor's pass," Dean interjected.

"No one wants to get into Hell," the stranger said chuckling.

"But could a coyote like you do it?" Sam cut to the point. The trio stood just a few feet behind the brothers, watching the cab driver. He wasn't exactly what they had expected the reaper to look like. Castiel was staring at him hard; not entirely approving of this rogue worker. But then again, he knew he had no ground to stand on from which to cast stones.

"It's possible. But I have special skills. I have overhead. It will be pricey," the figure murmured.

"How pricey?" asked Dean.

"You two are resourceful. One day, you will owe me a favor," he stated simply.

"You say that like you know us," Sam pried, already fearing the answer.

"Of course. You're the Winchesters," he replied.

"Sorry. Have we met?" Dean asked wanting all the information.

"I am the reaper who took Bobby Singer to Hell," and for a long heavy breath nothing happened as this horrible news settled in their hearts. Dean and Sam had shared stories of Bobby Singer with the trio. He was more their father than John had been and they loved him fiercely. His death and his haunting had been painful for the boys. This news did nothing to heal that wound.

"Bobby in Hell? We burned his bones. Once we did that, it was over. End of story," Sam was the first to come to.

"Hmm... Not necessarily," the reaper said.

"No, no, no, 'cause, see, Bobby was on the good side of things, and good guys go to the penthouse," Dean said anger in his voice.

"Usually, mostly. Depends on who you know, what palms get greased. If you're on the King of Hell's no-fly list, no way you cruise the friendly skies," the reaper chimed like he was ordering take out.

"Crowley," the eldest Winchester spat, marking another strike against the King of Hell, "Okay, let's do this. How much for a trip down and back?"

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

"What?" and Sam pulled his head back. His brother followed, annoyed, as Sam came upon the group again.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Sam snapped.

"You heard the guy - Bobby's in Hell. We're gonna spring him," Dean explained.

"We've gone over this, Dean. I have to do the trials solo," Sam started.

"This is Bobby we're talking about, Sam. Now let's face it - you have not exactly been up to full speed lately, okay? We got one shot at this. We can't miss. Besides, with the wonder bunch here, we gotta be a shoe in," Dean said smiling, wrapping his arm around a nervous looking Ron's shoulder.

"I'm not gonna miss. I'll bring him back," Sam said seriously.

Dean spun to face the waiting reaper.

"How does this... Work?"

"Not to fret. You'll be back in exactly 24 hours time," the reaper replied.

"I'm in. Just me," Sam said stiffly approaching Ajay. Locking eyes with Dean as they all walked up to follow the two, Ron stepped just a little bit closer to Sam.

As the youngest brother and the reaper stood before a painted mural in the alleyway, the paint began to melt as a bright light started to leak out.

"Take my hand," Ajay ordered.

"And it gets creepier," Sam chimed. The light continued to grow and seconds before the two bodies disappeared, Ron lurched forward, seizing Sam's arm. As the light flashed, blinding those in the alley, Sam, Ron and Ajay disappeared across the void, on the journey to Hell.

\o/o\o/

The bright light around them faded and they were in a forest that seemed white-washed, dimly lit. It reminded Ron of how Harry described memories; in color but the color was muted and faded like an old photograph. Only the light was startling; it was bright but disturbing, like the unsettling lights in a doctors office. Ron looked towards Sam, who looked shaky and angry.

"Ron what the..." Sam started and Ron just shrugged, smiling. He wasn't entirely sure why he had done it; he felt like he owed a lot to these brothers. He knew that Sam would never have allowed Dean to accompany him, afraid of what returning to hell would do to his brother. But just maybe he would walk this road with a friend.

"Come on, Sam. You don't have to do this alone," Ron said, clasping his shoulder, eyes darting around. Smiling ruefully, Sam turned to the reaper.

"So, this is Hell?" he said surprised, looking around. His own time in hell had been in the pit with Lucifer and he very much doubted that anything would ever come close to that...

"Not at all. This is Purgatory," the reaper replied casually.

 ** _"_** What do you mean this is Purgatory? This isn't what we paid for. We booked the Hell tour," Sam said, the panic clear in his voice. Ron and Sam had talked about what Purgatory had done to Dean; honestly it scared Ron more than hell.

"Whoa, whoa, Winchester, detach. This is Hell-adjacent. Been down this highway many times before. Follow the stream to where three trees meet as one. Where they meet, there are rocks. Between the rocks is the portal," Ajay explained.

"A portal?" Ron queried.

"A back door to Hell. Trust me - it'll work," he reassured.

"Wait. So you're not coming with us?" Sam asked with scrunched eyebrows.

"Don't be ridiculous. Smuggling mortals across the border is risky enough. But gate-crashing with a Winchester into Hell seriously blows. No. I'll be back in 24 hours, precisely. Be here," Ajay explained as he took a few steps back.

Sam nodded stiffly. He shrugged his hands and pulled a long machete out of its sheath against his leg. Handing the wicked looking blade to his friend, he palmed that short fierce blade with the eerie markings along the side.

"It's a good thing you brought that. It is not an easy place," and as the two travelers turned to face the reaper there was a flash of light and they were completely alone.

Ajay reappeared in the empty alley, the other visitors had long since left. Clutching the bag he had made a pit stop for, he climbed into his car and pulled out the greasy, foil wrapped hamburger.

"Hello, Ajay. It's been a while since we chatted - too long," an accented, oily voice crooned out of the backseat behind the reaper, making him start in surprise.

"Burger?" the reaper offered, holding up his sandwich.

"Anything you want to get off your chest? An update?" the King of Hell ignored the reapers pleasantries, cutting to his purpose.

"Um... No. No, not really," Ajay said, playing ignorant as long as he could.

"As you may recall, patience isn't one of my virtues. Well, I don't have any virtues, but if I did, I'm certain that patience wouldn't be one. So, sure there's nothing weighing on you? Nothing, say, about making a deal with the Winchesters?" Crowley said menacingly.

"Sir, I know better than to attempt that," he replied with a chuckle, sweating slightly.

"My operative saw you leaving with Sam Winchester," Crowley purred.

"Oh! Oh, Sam Winchester. Oh, yes, that's, uh... A possibility," Ajay replied, sweating more.

"You're trying my non-patience."

"Sir, I was just doing what I do. As you are more than aware, I do occasionally - moonlight as a freelancer," the rogue reaper stammered.

"You do not freelance with them!" the King shouted, losing his temper. "What did the moose want?"

"Well, uh, actually, it's, uh, starting to come back. He may have wanted to get into Hell," Ajay spoke softly.

"My Hell? Why would he want to do that?" Crowley said to himself.

"I don't know. I swear. My job - I don't ask questions," he replied quickly, trying to show how little he knew.

"And what time is Mr. Winchester due back from Hell?" Crowley asked, eyeing his hands.

"Uh, I'm picking him up in... Well, now 17 hours," Ajay said looking at the green light of his car clock.

"I see. Anything else?" the King said slowly.

"No. I swear!" he replied quickly.

Suddenly a bright blade was shining through Ajay's chest, Crowley having thrust it through the seat and into the disobedient reaper.

"That's one fare you won't be collecting," Crowley spoke slowly before disappearing, leaving the body behind in the dark alley.


	30. Chapter 30

The Impala pulled back up to the door of the bunker. They had about 19 hours left before they had to return for Sam so they returned home to rest and wait. As they walked into the kitchen, Kevin was sitting at the library table, pouring over the scattered pages of notes and scribbles.

"You're back?" he asked yawning.

"Yeah, just waitin to pick Sammy and Ron up from their play date," Dean said. "How goes the prophet life?"

Kevin stared at him clearly not amused. Kevin had been a straight A student Ivy League bound when he had been called to the life of a prophet. Since that day he had watched people he loved die, been kidnapped and tortured, and just generally had a pretty miserable life. He didn't know it, but Dean pitied the young man. Dean and Sam had never really known any other life, although Sam had tried a time or two. And the memories that Dean kept under lock and key of his year with Lisa and Ben never really left. But Kevin had lived most of his life as a normal kid. And now he was neck deep in demons and angels and responsibility.

"Keep pluggin kid. We can't do it without you," Dean said clasping the young man on the shoulder as he trudged to his room. Kevin looked after him. Part of him loved these boys like family. And part of him felt like a very useful screwdriver. He tried to keep that part quiet.

\o/o\o/

A few hours later Dean was walking through the nearly empty gas-and-sip, resupplying the bunker. He needed something to do besides sitting there waiting for his brother. A flutter in the light caused him to put his hand inside his jacket, around the handle of his gun. He turned around slowly and there was a middle-aged woman in a pant suit with dark red hair pulled into a neat bun staring at Dean, a fake smile on her face.

"Hello, Dean. We haven't been formally introduced. My name is Naomi," she stated, sticking her hand out. The brother took a cautious step back.

"Oh, I know who you are. And I know what you did to Cas after he got out of Purgatory," Dean spat.

"After I rescued him from Purgatory, you mean, at the cost of many angels' lives," she said seriously.

"You screwed with his head and had him spy on us," he barked.

"Well, it is true that I have spoken with Castiel many times, trying to reach out to him, trying to help him. Dean, you must have noticed how Purgatory changed him. I mean, he's been unstable in the past, but I was shocked at how damaged he is now," she said with mock sympathy in her voice.

"Stop, okay? Don't - don't try to spin this. You think I don't know that you told him to try and kill me?" Dean said, holding his hand up to stay her flow of words.

"Hmm. Yeah, I suppose that is how he would hear it. When I learned of the Angel tablet, I did tell Castiel to get it at any cost. That's my job - to protect heaven. I'm a warrior, just as you are. What would you expect? And now Castiel is in the wind with a hydrogen bomb in his pocket, and I - I'm scared, for all of us," again the ingenuity in her voice raked at Dean. He forced every image of Cas and Hermione safe in the warded bunker from his mind, just in case she was trying to tap that vein. Inwardly, he was praising that young girl that anchored his friend in a way he had never seen. Without her, he probably would be MIA on the run. But where she was, he would always return.

"Save it. See, I don't trust Angels, which means I don't trust you."

"Yet here you walk bold as brass, for any willing eyes to see. I know you don't want to believe it, Dean, but we're on the same side - shutting the Gates of Hell, bringing Castiel in from the cold. Take a moment. Think about what I've said. Oh. I know you've been doing business with Ajay. He did mention, didn't he, that his way into Hell is through Purgatory? I knew you'd want to know. You see, we can be of help to each other," she revealed more than Dean ever wanted to hear and before he could reply, she was gone in a flutter of wings.

\o/o\o/

Slamming the door of the bunker hard, Dean yelled through the depths.

"CAS!"

Having taken to moving through the bunker in ways that didn't leave him open to angelic interference, Cas came running in the kitchen, picking up on the concern in his friends voice.

"Dean, what is it?" he asked quickly.

"Had a visit at the store from your old pal... Naomi," Dean finished slowly, anticipating his friends response.

"Naomi?" and the air around Cas snapped and crackled.

"Yeah, she is still hot and heavy after you man. Be careful," Dean still wasn't sure why they hadn't found him in the bunker or why Cas was able to get in and out so easily, knowing the wards they had etched into the stone. But he wasn't going to poke holes until the roof came down. "Listen she said something about Ajay's way into hell..."


	31. Chapter 31

Covered in great splotches of blood and pouring sweat, Ron and Sam slashed their way through Purgatory. When the first monster had appeared, Ron had tried to fight it with magic. But it had no effect on the creature. After Sam had dispatched the vampire, Ron tried a few more spells before realizing that his wand was not going to be an option for them in Purgatory. They then began fighting and running from one attack to another, desperately trying to find the portal to hell. Ron had cut down more monsters than he had ever met, which was saying a lot. Finally, they came upon the point where the three trees met. Locking eyes, they approached the shimmering portal. In a soft glow of light they were sucked into hell.

Standing in a low dark hallway, they could hear screams and mutters echoing through the passages. Grimacing and squeezing their blades a little harder, they ventured forward. Slowly they passed by cells covered in bars and metal. Although it turned their stomachs, they looked into each one on the hunt for the plaid-clad old man in a trucker hat. Ron would never unsee what he saw in this hallway.

Sam came to yet another door. Peering in, he didn't see anything at first so he gave the door an experimental push. As it swung slowly in, he noticed the tally marks scratched into the wall. Staring harder at the shadows he could just make out a stocky figure. Hoping against hope he stepped forward as Ron stepped into the cell behind him slowly.

"Bobby?"

The figure turned slowly. His cheeks where thin and white, his hair was matted and dirty and his eyes looked very close to hollow but there he stood; Bobby Singer.

"Get the hell out of here, you black-eyed son of a bitch," was his reply to Sams question.

Confused, the youngest Winchester stuttered, "What? Bobby, it's Sam!"

"Yeah, and I'm Elvis. OUT!"

"Bobby -" he began again.

"I said get!" and the old man started to move aggressively toward the two men.

"It's me! Okay, listen. If it's not Sam... Then how do I know all about you and Tori Spelling?" Sam said hurriedly.

"What?" the old man faltered.

"You're a fan. Yeah. Or - or, uh... Okay. What about your free pedicure at the Mall of America? You made Dean swear to never tell another living soul how it changed your life," Sam continued quickly, Ron stiffling a chortle.

The eyes of the man seemed to clear a little bit and he stared at Sam as if seeing him for the first time.

"Sam?" he moved forward to pull the boy into a fierce hug, "I'm sorry, Sam, but you're the 200th Sam I've seen today. That's how they screw with me. Just endless Sams and Deans all wearing the same black eyes although usually they are alone..." Bobby noticed the red headed teen behind his adopted son.

"Ugh, Bobby, this is Ron. He is a friend, we can trust him," Sam explained.

"Wait a minute. What the hell are you doing here? Please don't tell me it's what I think it is," concern flared in Bobbys face.

"No, no, no, Bobby, I'm good. We're good. We are ugh, here to get you. You don't belong here, Bobby," Sam said smiling. He handed the ancient demon killing knife to his mentor and pulled another shorter knife from somewhere on his person.

"And we're getting you out."

\o/o\o/

Dean hadn't taken the time to call for those in the bunker so only Harry rode with him as he tore back to the alley where he had last seen his brother. Harry had taken to sitting on the old motorcycles in the garage of the bunker, when he wanted time to think. That was where he had been when he had seen Dean sprint into the garage. He had barely made it into the Impala before Dean peeled out into the night.

Through gritted teeth the brother explained why he was ripping the quiet apart.

Pulling into the otherwise deserted alley, they saw the small little yellow cab sitting alone in the exact same place it had been before. Parking close to the cab, Dean leaped from the car and walked to the drivers door.

"Ajay? Hey," but he stopped short as he opened the car door and Ajay was staring blankly upwards, black blood covering his front.

Leaning against the hood of the Impala, Harry waited for Dean to finish his phone call. He had been so freaked when he had seen the dead reaper. Without pausing for as much as a moment, he pulled his phone out, punched a few numbers and waited for whoever he was seeking to pick up on the other end. He strolled around the empty alleyway as he talked in a low voice. Holding the phone out and staring hard at it for a moment after clicking the red button, he finally made his way back over to Harry. The teen looked at Dean, concern and questions written all over his face.

"I... ugh... I called Benny," Dean said not looking at Harry. Sam and Dean had both talked about Benny to Harry, although usually not in the same room. Dean had always spoken of him in the past tense, like he was a memory that couldn't be touched. It surprised Harry to hear his name come up, considering everything that had happened the last time they had talked, especially to Sam.

"He is meeting us halfway through Arkansas. He is going... to get them out," Dean explained, which meant that the vampire was going to return to Purgatory to guide Dean's family home. Harry felt the cold that he sure was covering Dean spill over into him. When Dean talked about Benny, Harry understood what they had been through together and he knew that Dean saw him, for whatever he was, as family. Dean could never explain how much it tore at him to ask Benny to do this and, with Harry, he didn't have to.

Without another word they jumped into the car and roared down the empty highway.

\o/o\o/

Bobby, Ron and Sam burst back into Purgatory breathing hard. They had ended up fighting about half a dozen demons on their way out of hell, trying to be as quiet as they could so as not to put worse creatures on their scent. The stories that Sam and Dean had told Ron about the hell hounds continually playing over in his mind.

Sam checked his watch as the three caught their breath.

 _"_ Where in sam hill are we?" Bobby barked looking around at the creepy calm forest.

"All right, don't get all hopped up but... Purgatory," Sam said the last word slowly and maybe a little quieter.

"Balls!" Bobby snapped and Ron couldn't help but smile, recalling all the times the brothers had imitated the expletive of the old man.

The three trudged through the forest that was too quiet, talking softly as Sam guided back to the spot where the reaper would come for them. As the tried to quietly move through the forest, a handful of sick looking monsters that were alone had made for the group. One by one they had easily been dispatched by one of the men. And still they moved forward, quickening their pace just slightly as the time ticked away.

Suddenly Sam stopped, looking eagerly around.

"What's going on, Sam?" Bobby asked, picking up on the anxiety of his son.

"This is it. This is the place. I'm sure of it," Sam spun around expecting to see Ajay.

"This is where he left us," Ron chimed, his stomach starting to churn.

"When is your cabbie supposed to show?" Bobby asked.

"At exactly... now," Sam looked at his watch.

"So, he's running a little late," Bobby ventured hopefully

"He was very specific, like, to the minute," Ron replied checking his own watch.

"And if he doesn't show...?" the question hung in the air.

"We got no way out."


	32. Chapter 32

_Hello beautiful people. I am still in love with this story but I am coming up against some writers block for two reasons. One: since I wrote out Castiel going MIA with the Angel tablet I need to work in an idea about how Metatron got his grace for the spell. I am toying with a kidnapping story line but would LOVE suggestions or feedback!_

 _Two: there were some harsh/negative PM's sent my way regarding what users felt were "plot holes". I thoroughly enjoy discussion and debates around the fandoms (alas, most of my close friends are not SPN fans :,( but the lecturing and belittling was a mood kill.  
_

 _Sorry for the whine session; my end point was supposed to be that if there are glaring plot holes that I have failed to address, I welcome conversation around them but please don't make me feel like an idiot as an amateur._

 _Also, revisit point 1 because I need some help!_

* * *

"Dean, good to see you brother," and Benny hugged the hunter as he stepped from the car.

"You too man, really."

Harry stepped out of the car and the three men talked in low, heavy voices for a few minutes. Dean's voice betrayed his guilt at what he was asking Benny to do. Benny, for all his bravado, couldn't hide the relief that was coming from his heart. Being topside had been a goal all the time he was in Purgatory. But being a vampire in a human world wasn't all it was cracked up to be; it was hard not to feed. Bagged blood just wasn't the same. There was a small part of him that craved the kill or be killed simplicity of that insane place.

As Dean moved to the trunk to retrieve the machete, Benny stepped toward Harry.

"You look after them now. They are good people but they get in their own way," Benny said staring straight at Harry. Harry was confused at the speech of the man; the plan was for Benny to return with Sammy and the others as soon as he got them to the portal in Purgatory. Nonetheless he nodded and clasped the hand the vampire offered, feeling the cool skin and tight grip of the man about to die... again.

Dean squared off against Benny as he stood stoically, his eyes just a little red.

"You sure about this?" Dean said again standing with the long blade in his hand.

"Not my first rodeo, man," Benny chuckled. Dean stuck his cold hand out to Benny who took it and pulled the Winchester into a tight embrace. Dean squeezed hard against his friend and sighed a deep breath as they broke apart.

"Thank you," Dean said looking into Benny's eyes. He nodded, swallowing hard.

After a hard moment, Benny broke the silence, "Well, come on. You a wimp?" and Dean smiled weakly as he brought the blade up quickly, Harry turning his head away as the blood splattered on the brick wall behind the headless corpse.

\o/o\o/

"Dean spent a year in this place?" Bobby panted as the three men paused from fighting another twisted monster.

 _"_ Running and fighting, all day, every day," Sam huffed.

"Must have been hell on you not being able to get him out all that time," when Sam avoided Bobbys eyes the old man pried further, "You did try?"

"Look, Bobby, Dean and I had an agreement, okay?" Sam defended.

"I know that agreement. I taught you that agreement. That's a non-agreement. I get the feeling a lot must have happened while I was gone," the old man finished darkly. Suddenly there were four or five vampires hurtling toward them. Each of the three men threw themselves at the beast nearest them, slashing and hacking at their throats. When they whipped around to take the two that had been trailing, they saw the bodies already fallen under a large, pale man who was spitting out the chunks of their throats he had bitten off. His fangs glittering with blood, Bobby moves to end this beast as well.

"Bobby, no, no, wait! Wait! Wait! Why are you here?" Sam snapped at the vampire as he stood to face the three men.

"Dean sent me," he said softly.

"Dean? Not my Dean. Not working with a frigging vampire?" Bobby stammered.

Memories of stories registered with Ron as he stepped forward, "Benny?" he ventured and his guess was confirmed by the man's bloody smile.

"He's a buddy of Dean's," Sam said stiffly.

"Well, you two really went off the rails while I was gone, didn't you?" Bobby said frustrated.

\o/o\o/

The four had set off through Purgatory after another handful of monsters had attacked. Benny explained to Sam what he had to do to get Bobby's soul out. They slowly came up to a steep hill. As Sam and Ron moved toward it, it started to crackle blue and white.

"That's it... it can sense you two. Better get moving," Benny barked over the sound, his eyes roving the forest. Slowly Sam, face tight, pulled his sleeve up and cut a gash into his arm as Bobby did the same. The two locked eyes as they grasped forearms. Slowly Bobby turned into white glittering lights and seeped into the slit in Sam's arm. Yellow speckles swirled around the arm of the youngest Winchester as he gasped, the weight of Bobby's soul bearing down on him.

Having seen it done, Ron turned to the vampire as he rolled his sleeve up. As if on cue, four vampires poured from the forest far away. One of them shouted, recognizing Benny.

"Benny. Still working with the Winchesters," he taunted.

"Hurry!" Ron snapped as the blood trickled down his outstretched arm.

"Time for you two to go," the vampire smiled and turned toward the other beasts.

"Benny!" Ron yelled over the portal noise. The vampire turned back toward them, a small smile on his face.

"Go on. It's me they want. Go on. You just make sure you tell Dean I said goodbye. I was never any good up there anyway," and on the last words he turned to make his move.

"BENNY! Wait," he twisted quickly to face Ron who threw him the long thin machete. He caught it deftly, smiling as the other vampires were almost upon him.

In a crack of light and sound Sam and Ron were sucked out of Purgatory.

\o/o\o/

It was pitch black; Dean and Harry paced through the same 40 square yards in the wild. Dean had driven recklessly all the way to the 100-mile Wilderness in Maine, where he had popped from Purgatory. His anxiety at the return of those he had lost or sent was weighing on him like a heavy stone.

A huge flash of light and jolt of sound shattered the calm of the wilderness and Sam and Ron were stumbling, panting in the brush. Harry and Dean tore towards them. Dean pulled Sam into a tight embrace as Harry caught his friend in his arms, holding onto him tightly. After a moment or so, they released the recently returned, smiling with watery eyes.

"Purgatory, right? A real garden spot, ain't it?" Dean smiled looking from Sam to Ron.

"Yeah," they said in unison.

"Did you get them out?" Harry asked.

"Only Bobby," Sam said heavily, cradling his arm. No one spoke.

"I tried to get Benny but... a bunch of vamps popped up and he used himself as bait to get us out," Ron said his voice thick with guilt.

"Listen, Dean, I get the feeling that even if that didn't happen, he didn't want to come back, you know? I'm sorry," Sam said with sincerity.

Dean nodded darkly, his fears realized. He shook his head and looked to change the topic.

"How'd Bobby hold up down there?" he ventured.

"He's good," Sam said smiling, content his brother wasn't angry, "All things considered. Ornery as ever."

"As he should be. Let's put that old man where he belongs."

They all nodded as Sam rolled up his sleeve gingerly. He pulled the knife blade across his already healed arm, muttering in Latin as warm blood dripped on soil. Blue light started to ooze from the wound drift skyward. Suddenly a toxic looking black and red smoke seemed to wrap around and hold down the blue lights of Bobby's soul.

"Hello, boys," Crowley purred from the shadows.


	33. Chapter 33

_Sorry for the long delay in updates - report cards - gah!_

* * *

The eyes of the King of Hell shifted up to the dancing shadows in the sky. "Bobby Singer - I'd know you anywhere," he purred.

"Let him go, Crowley. He doesn't belong in Hell," Dean snapped.

"He does if I say he does. He's inflicted untold damage on my kind. From where I sit, actually, Hell's too good for him."

Anger sparked in the brothers eyes and without thinking they charged the demon. With a flick of his hands, the Winchesters were slammed into the huge tree trunks behind them, suspended in the air, twisting painfully. Rushing to aid their friends, Harry and Ron whipped out their wands squaring off against Crowley.

"Let them down," the blood smeared Ron growled.

"Really?" he said with doubt across his face. "Boys I am a little beyond magic tricks."

Harry set his jaw hard and flung the tip of his wand toward the black clad man, "Expelliarmus!" Crowley paused for only a moment in his leisurely stroll towards them.

"Ohh, that tickles," he said silky, menace in his eyes. Harry and Ron swallowed hard; Ron slowly raised the hand still holding the machete.

"That won't do much better darling," Crowley said, eyeing the blade. Not moving, trying to think of what to do, Harry and Ron stood helpless as the brothers were held against the trees. Suddenly Crowley became distracted; the red and black cloud of Bobby's soul that had been slowly moving toward the earth was now flashing blue and white rays of light and slowly moving back up.

A middle aged woman in a neat pant suit appeared in the shadows. When Crowley saw her, he rolled his eyes.

"Let me see if I've interpreted the situation correctly. The Winchesters have freed an innocent from Hell, to which you are wrongfully trying to return it," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Siding with them, Naomi? You don't know those two. Before they're done, we'll both be locked away," Crowley said, dropping all pretense and staring hard at the angel.

"I'm just hoping they lock you away, dear. The rest I'll figure out," she said confidently.

"Bureaucrat. You're fighting outside your weight class."

Her eyes flashed dangerously as she held her hand out toward the demon.

"Don't call me a bureaucrat!" and in a flash the King of Hell had disappeared and the brothers dropped coughing and sputtering to their knees. They all looked up as Bobby's soul, bright white once again, glittering in small circles ascending higher and higher until it was no longer visible.

"I told you you could trust me," she said darkly before disappearing in a flutter of wings.

Confused, Sam stood up but Dean shook his head avoiding his brothers inquiries for now. Nodding Sam fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a small piece of parchment with scribbled writing on it. After muttering the Enochian phrase, red-yellow light surged under Sam's skin and he fell to his knees, gasping. The pain was like melting from the inside out. It subsided slowly but never really went away, he felt like there was a hot core right through the middle of him making him nauseous and dizzy.

Slowly he got to his feet, assuring the worried faces around him that he was fine. But as they returned to the bunker, he knew in his heart that he was the furthest thing from okay.

\o/o\o/

They all spent the next few days healing and recovering in the safety of the bunker; all but Sam. He didn't seem to get better, in fact, as each day passed he seemed to get worse. He wasn't eating at all. Blood was constantly coming from his lungs. His balance was practically gone. Deeply worried about him, Dean took to checking in on him and did everything he could to try and help his brother. But Sam's sole focus was on finishing the trials which is why he spent so much time with Kevin pouring through his notes. Only having the half the tablet seemed to be slowing the prophet down but he never stopped, still working hard to figure out how to close the gates of hell.

It was at the end of the second day that Sam jumped from his seat, clutching a sheet of paper staring at it excitedly.

"I... I know that symbol," he slurred pointing to the little shape. Kevin peered over at the paper.

"Yeah... it is everywhere. It comes up every time Metatron makes a note... I guess it is like his signature," and Kevin scooted back over to his papers.

"But I've seen it before. I mean, it was a long time ago, it was one of my, uh, humanities courses at Stanford. It was an overview of Native American art — I think it's a petroglyph," Kevin looked back at the symbol thinking about his schooling as Sam stumbled to the shelves of the library, pouring over the spines for the book he needed.

Hermione had taken to spending time researching with them; partly because Castiel was still on the come and go trying to make sure Naomi was left in the dark about where he was. She had listened to their conversation and although she didn't recognize the symbol, she got up and walked over to Sam. He seemed to be having trouble focusing on the words; trouble standing really.

"Sam... can I help?" she offered slowly and as the youngest Winchester whipped around, he stumbled back and luckily fell into one of the library chairs. Realizing that he wasn't even in a state to stand back up, he smiled and nodded as the young witch asked what to look for and set about scanning the books.

Not long after, as she and Sam were each leafing through books that Sam had said might have more information, he stood up sharply and staggered over to the table, slamming the book he was looking at hard on the top of the wood.

"Here. It belonged to a tiny tribe in Colorado, more of a— a clan, really. It says here they held on to their scrap of mountains when all the other tribes fell to the white men. So this glyph was a territorial marker — closest translation: "messenger of God"," Sam slammed his hand on the table to emphasize his point to Hermione and Kevin. They stared at him a little doubtfully. "Messenger of God, guys, come on! We have to go there!" and in his excitement, he lost enough of energy he was forced to sit quickly in the chair that Kevin had vacated.

"On that hunch?" Kevin said incredulously.

"I mean it - go get Dean. He will see why we have to go."

\o/o\o/

"You can barely function, man. And we are going to drive all the way across the country on this?" Dean had not been the supportive force Sam had bargained on. Ron and Harry had come to the sounds of raised voices and were listening to the conversation.

"Dean, I'm only gonna get worse. I mean, until Kevin can figure out what the third trial is, this is something! I mean, I say we go to this messenger of God who wrote it in the first place," enthusiasm flooded Sam's face. Looking from one brother to another, Kevin spoke.

"I don't even know if I can figure out the third trial without the other half of this tablet," his words were heavy. It seemed like ages ago that the brothers and Castiel had rescued Kevin from the clutches of the King of Hell. But in an attempt to scare Crowley, Castiel had nearly burned up and accidentally smashed the Demon Tablet into two pieces.

The air was thick with doubt and tension. Sam wanted desperately to move forward with the trials and no matter what anyone else thought, this seemed like a tangible lead to him. Dean just felt doubt; doubt in this lead, doubt in Kevin's ability to crack the tablet, and doubt in Sam's ability to complete the trials, let alone survive them. The trio waited anxiously. Deep down, they knew the feeling of venturing on wisps of hope and they would have traveled to the edge of creation with Sam if he thought it would help. But they loved and trusted Dean, understanding the fierce protectiveness he had for his brother.

"So you think this Metatron is hiding out in the mountains with a bunch of Indians?" Dean asked.

Sensing hope, Sam answered energetically, "Yeah! Yeah, I do! And you're not— you're not really supposed to say Indians, it's... We should go," Sam stood slowly walking to his room with Dean and the trio staring after him.

\o/o\o/

Hermione stood in her room, debating with herself. Finally she caved.

"Cas!" and nearly before she had finished the syllable, the angel fluttered into her room, smiling warmly. Despite the fact that she had just seen him this morning when he had popped in, she hugged him tightly, smiling happily. He held for a long moment, lost in her warmth and smell.

"Hi," she said in the silly voice that she still sometimes used with him.

"Hi," he replied, eyes glittering like diamonds.

"How's angel dodgeball going?" Hermione asked, adopting some of the sarcastic Winchester vernacular. It warmed Cas that much more.

"Fine. I was "spotted" out side of a some very well-warded, ancient runes just off the coast of South Africa. That should keep them busy for a while."

"Great. Listen, Sam found something and we are headed to Colorado..." as she explained the conversation of the afternoon, Castiel's eyes widen in shock.

"He thinks that it is Metatron... Scribe of God Metatron? At a Native American Reservation in remote mountains?" and that same doubt that everyone but Sam felt at least a little piece of mingled with Castiel's voice. Hermione nodded smiling.

"Yeah - I know it sounds crazy but Sam really thinks it could be something. I'm planning on going with them..." her voice tapered off. Anytime she had gone on a hunt with the brothers, Cas had come with her. But running toward the Scribe of God who could have a hard line to heaven was not a car ride Castiel could come on. The worry in his eyes gave her butterflies.

"Do you want me to come?" he offered already knowing her answer.

"No!" she almost yelled knowing the danger it could cause for the angel that held her heart. "I just wanted to let you know..." really she had wanted to see him again. She felt guilty anytime she called him just to see him; after all, he was trying to keep the bunker off heavens radar. Looking timidly at the floor, she glanced up at him only to see that dazzling smile that meant he knew exactly why she had called.


	34. Chapter 34

Like the weirdest family road trip imaginable, Sam and Dean sat in the front of the Impala with Hermione, Ron, and Harry tucked in the back. Kevin had stayed behind, still worrying about the demonic voices he was hearing and determined to find all the information on the tablet that he could.

Leaving with the sun rise, they stopped for lunch along the way and rolled into the parking lot of the hotel near the reservation in the middle of the afternoon. It wasn't much to look at, older than any of them and seemingly empty. There was an air around the place made it feel like time had dropped that hotel out of nowhere and left it there.

"Nice place," Dean snapped as they entered the front doors and went up to the desk. After booking a couple of adjacent rooms, they left the surly, quiet manager and headed to the rooms. Sam seemed to be stumbling more than usual, squinting his eyes like there was a loud noise.

"Can you guys hear that?" he asked a little louder than he needed to.

\o/o\o/

As Castiel strolled through the shadows of the tropical trees along the coast of the Galapagos islands, and flutter and shimmer behind him made his stomach fall to the ground.

"Castiel," Naomis' voice was commanding and irritated. He turned slowly to face his fate and saw that she was not along; two other angels flanked the stern looking woman. Suddenly they fluttered and were behind Castiel, penning him in. He stared at the face that haunted his waking moments. Through the healing of the angel tablet, Castiel could remember the dozens of times Naomi had drilled into him, rewriting his mind, erasing atrocities that he committed in the name of heaven.

Never again.

\o/o\o/

Sam had been forced into bed rest after some very weird remarks about a farting donkey. Meanwhile, Dean, Harry, Ron and Hermione split up and canvassed the hotel, museum and other little spots around where they were, searching for any sign of the Scribe of God.

A few hours later they met up at back at the hotel room where Sam was not sleeping. Ron was the last one to roll in. The others were spread out on chairs and bed tops drinking from cold bottles and crunching on cheap vending machines snacks. Ron threw himself on the bed, stretching out next to Hermione who has sitting cross legged, a bag of gummy snacks in her hand.

They exchanged the information that they had collected. Harry found out they were the first visitors to this place since 2006. Dean relayed an interesting story about a "mighty leader" who kept the tribe here. He said he would protect them and in return, they were to make offerings, offerings of stories. Hermione had seen a picture in the trading post that had looked nearly identical to the manager that had checked them in.

Still mulling over the details, trying to find some thread of a lead to go on, they heard a loud thud in the hall. Furrowing his brows, Ron hopped up and headed to the door. As he peered down the hallway he flew out of the door toward the body laying prone on the carpet. He crashed to his knees next to an unconscious Sam. Pulling him onto his lap, he felt his face. His skin was burning up and sweat was pouring off of him. Ron didn't need to call for the others, they were already around him. Each person grabbed part of the massive man as they carried him back into the hotel room.

"Bath tub," Dean barked and they maneuvered him into the old ceramic tub. Dean bent over his brother. "We need to cool him down," he said tensely.

Hermione didn't pause in pulling her wand out of her jacket. Pointing at the tub, she said, "Gelidas Aguamenti!" and water with ice cubes started filling the tub from the bottom. Once it was nearly to the top, she lowered her wand. Still Sam didn't move. Dean rubbed his face and his legs, trying to get his brothers body temperature normal without him getting frostbite.

After several tense minutes, Sam started gasping and tried to leap from the tub only to crash back into the icy water.

 **"** He's here, Dean. Metatron is here, I know it, I can hear him," Sam gasped as he stood slowly, wrapping the towel that Harry held out to him around his shoulders.

"What're you talking about?" Ron asked.

"All I know is that I'm connected to it somehow," Sam chattered.

"What, like you got a link to him, like a prophet?" Dean asked concerned.

"I don't know! I just know he's here. Metatron is here," Sam said sternly.

"'Here where?" Hermione questioned.

"I can show you. I can show you. The manager. He was delivering books to him - that room down the hallway n the left, all the way at the end," Sam said.

"Makes sense... stories," Hermione said looking at the oldest Winchester.

After Sam warmed up and changed clothes, the five of them ventured into the hall. Dean's eyes never left his brother.

 **"** I should be taking you to the ER," Dean said.

"They can't do anything for me. You know what will fix this," Sam was quiet for another long moment, "You know, the longer this goes on, the more that starts to change or happen. Like I've been remembering things, little things, so clearly—"

"Like donkey rides?" Dean chuckled.

"You know, Dean used to read to me," Sam said to Hermione who was walking close to the unsteady hunter, "When I was little, I— I mean, really little, from that— from an old, uh... Classics Illustrated comic book. You remember that?" he added looking at his brother. Dean shook his head quickly.

"Knights of the Round Table," Sam continued talking to anyone listening, "Had all of King Arthur's knights, and they were all on the quest for the Holy Grail. And I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad, and, and, and he was kneeling, and— and light streaming over his face, and— I remember... thinking, uh, I could never go on a quest like that. Because I'm not clean. I mean, I w— I was just a little kid. You think... maybe I knew? I mean, deep down, that— I had... demon blood in me, and about the evil of it, and that I'm— wasn't pure?" Sam rambled on as the walked down the long hallway. Hermione looped her arm through Sams, placing both her hands over his forearm to comfort him. Soft tears pooled in the corners of his eyes as he smiled at the young witch and looked to his brother, desperate for him to say something.

"Sam, none of that was ever your fault," Dean spoke clearly and firmly.

"But you know what Dean... these trials... they're purifying me..." he said mystically. As they came up to the end of the hallway, it was empty.

"They were here, the— the— the books, the boxes! They— they're gone!" Sam gasped. Dean approached the door at the very end and gave a small push. It swung inwards silently.


	35. Chapter 35

On that nearly deserted beach, two men in neat black suits held another bloodied battered man in a trench coat between them. A middle age woman stared down at the beaten man.

"Castiel, why? Why are you doing this? Let us put the tablet back where it should be," she said stiffly.

"Where is that Naomi? With you? No, it must be protected," Castiel groaned, his eye swelling shut.

She crouched down, staring at the other angel in a sinister way.

"I'm just going to have to pull you apart, aren't I?"

Suddenly, with a wretch and a jerk the angel to the right of Castiel stiffened before bright, almost white light poured out of him. A second later, he crumpled pathetically to the ground.

"Hello, darlings," a silky sickening voice purred from behind Castiel. Naomi looked hard over his shoulder, rising to stand and glare at the newcomer.

"Do you like it?" the man clad in a fine black suit held up a silver gun, "I had my R&D people melt down one of your angel blades, cast it into bullets. Seems to do the trick," he finished with a self-satisfied smile.

"How dare you," she started, her hand rising with white light flickering between her fingers. The demons smile slipped from his face as he leveled the weapon at her.

"We've been here before, haven't we darling? Let's see who blinks first," her growled. Before he finished, his finger squeezed the trigger, but it was a second too late as the woman vanished with a flutter. The demon sauntered up to the man holding the beaten angel, staring down at him with mock sympathy on his face. He smiled and winked at the other angel, who looked away in disgust. Castiel was confused for only a moment before understanding dawned on his face.

"That's right, Cas. I got me an angel on the payroll. It's that kinda universe, these days," Crowley smiled even wider and quickly unloaded another shot into the side of Castiels stomach. The other angel dropped him and he sat clutching his bleeding gut.

"Just needed a moment to chat with my old business partner. After all, it will take a painful long time to bleed out from the gut."

"You can do whatever you want, Crowley. I will never tell you where the tablet is," Castiel choked out. His mind was flashing threateningly and he strove to keep it blank.

"I know, Cas. I know. Luckily, I don't believe you'll have to. I've been getting regular updates from my expensive friend here," he eyed the angel, "Naomi should have caught you out of the gate, seeing as lately she's been knuckles-deep in that melon of yours. But she doesn't know what I know... or who I know," and the smile on Crowley's face left Castiel's heart cold.

In the same moment, Crowley's cellphone rang. Smiling again, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the flip phone, answering it with a smile.

"Hello. The King," he spoke quietly as he walked away leaving Castiel with the other angel, Ion.

* * *

The door swung inward quietly and the five standing just outside it stared at one another, doubting the wisdom of just plunging into who knows what. Shrugging, Ron sidled his way in. They followed him and were met with an interesting sight. Towers of books lined every inch of this little apartment. Stacked higher than even Sam was tall, some seemed old, others new. But there had to be thousands of stories in this room.

"Who're you?" suddenly a middle age, curly haired portly man appeared from behind one of the stacks, leveling an old shot gun at them.

"Metatron?" Dean stammered. He turned to look at Harry and Sam. "This is Metatron? Him?" In a flash the man was suddenly blocking their path to the front door.

"Sit down," he gestured towards a ratty looking sofa and the five squeezed onto it, looking at one another curiously.

"Who sent you?" he questioned briskly.

"No one, we came on our own," Hermione started quickly. Sam was squinting like the room was hard to see and covering his ears from a sound none of them could hear. She was looking at him nervously.

"I'm Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sam, Dean," Harry said, pointing at each person in turn down the couch.

"Do you work for Michael? Or Lucifer?" he barked still pointing the weapon at them. Dean looked confused and unsure at the others on the couch.

"Michael and Lucifer? Are you kidding? Those dudes are in the deep fryer," Dean snapped looking at the little man. He looked confused.

"Yeah. We put them there ourselves," Sam half-shouted.

"What about Gabriel? And Raphael?" Metatron probed, still not convinced.

"Dead," Dean said. "You really don't know any of this?"

"I've been very careful," Metatron said, his finger still hovering over the trigger.

"Can...can you turn that down?" Sam shouted, holding his head like he was trying to keep it from flying apart.

Metatron wavered a moment, "Turn what dow— oh. You're resonating," and on that, he lowered the gun.

"Resonating? What does that mean?" Ron asked.

"You've undertaken the trials. You're trying to pull one of the great levers, aren't you? You're pretty far along, too. You get that far along, you start resonating with the Word. Or with its source on the material plane. With me," and the chubby little man smiled.

The gun finally down, careful conversation started. They discovered that, although Metatron was the scribe of God, he was just an angel, not an archangel. So when God went on... sabbatical, as he called it, the archangels stepped in and he had fled. He knew quite a bit and was afraid of what methods they might use to get that information. Dean had a hard time believing he could just shut himself up here and have no idea of what was happening in the world. Ron and Harry were very uncomfortable with the way he talked about humanity, like they were performing monkeys that he had enjoyed reading about over the centuries. Hermione steadily grew more and more concerned for Sam. After a particularly long shpeal from the angel, Sam seemed to snap.

"You know what? Pull the frigging trigger," he yelled.

"What?" Metatron asked shocked.

"Pull the freaking trigger, you cowardly piece of garbage," Sam growled.

"Whoa, whoa Sammy," Dean said but Sam was already rising and squared off against the little man. He grabbed the end of the gun and rested it on his heart.

"All the time you've been hiding here, how much suffering have you read over? Humanity's suffering! And how much of it has been at the hands of your kind?!"

"Stop. Stop!" Dean shouted, pulling his brother back.

"You want a story? Try Kevin Tran's story. He was just a kid. He was a good, straight-A kid, and then he got sucked in to all of this— this angel crap. He became a prophet, of the Word of God. Your prophet!" Harry yelled, trying to distract the angel and the brothers alike. Harry had gathered enough from the brothers conversations and from snippets with Kevin to know that he resented his role; a role that seemed to be Metatron's fault.


	36. Chapter 36

Struggling under the pain of the bullet, Castiel looked up at Ion, who was pointedly looking away from his victim.

"How— how far can this go?" Castiel groaned.

"Shut up," Ion snapped.

"Ion. How far can we let it all drop? This is not our mission," Castiel spoke softly.

"How do you even know what the mission was, Castiel? They've been in all our heads. Naomi- all of them," Ion hissed through pursed lips.

"We aren't machines for them to program and reprogram. That wasn't what this was meant to be," Cas growled. Ion rolled his eyes and looked away again. As his gaze was diverted, Castiel managed to pry the silver, bloodied bullet from his flesh, carefully cradling it in his hand.

Seeming to think of another idea, and getting more comfortable now that Crowley had strolled a ways down the beach on his phone, Ion spoke softly again. He stared hard off to the left and didn't notice Castiel shifting to get footing from his crouched position.

"You soldiers, down in the garrison, at least they let you believe the lie. Upstairs, working for Naomi, working in intelligence, we had no option but to live in the dirt. She never reset me completely. I always knew too much, I had to— I had to do my job," the break in the end of his voice hurt Castiel's heart. He grimaced hard as he threw his body upright, grabbing Ion from behind. Cramming the silver bullet into the other angels eye, the white light flashed and poured as Ion died.

Crowley whipped around, ear still on his phone, just in time to watch Castiel vanish.

* * *

"Kevin Tran, the prophet?" Metatron asked.

"Yeah, he has been busting his butt, trying to decode your nonsense in order to slam the gates of Hell shut. He has lost everything - I mean everything. And a fat lot of help you have been," Dean snapped. Metatron looked curiously at them for a moment, thoughts turning in his mind.

"Okay," Metatron said. The five sitting on the couch looked at one another curiously.

"Okay?" Hermione ventured.

"I'll help. I wrote the tablets. I know the next step in the trial. I'll help," and he smiled in an awkward way.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, clearly this was too easy to be kosher.

"You really intend on closing the doors of Hell?" Metatron probed again, looking serious.

Sam made a face that showed it wasn't even a question.

Metatron told them what he remembered, about what the third trial to close the gates of hell involved. Doubt oozed through the listeners; it seemed impossible. When they asked questions for more specifics, Metatron was infuriatingly elusive, seeming to enjoy holding the power of knowledge.

After some time, they realized they had gathered all that they could from this isolated angel. They made to take their leave and as Metatron watched them drive away from his hotel, the smile that played across his lips would have dumped doubt on everything they had just heard from him.

Eager to return to the bunker and hit the grind stone to try and shake out how to do this, they had left the hotel as soon as they had finished with Metatron. Sam was incredibly grateful to be away from the deafening sound that came from the Scribe. They drove straight through the night, Dean very accustomed to long trips. It was the middle of the morning when the door to the garage of the bunker creaked open.

Exhausted they poured into the library. Kevin came sprinting into the room, clutching the demon tablet, looking breathless.

"Iknowthelastone," he said in a slur of sounds.

"Whoa, dude, slow down. We have news too but by all means," Dean said slowly, gesturing to the excited Prophet.

"I...know what... the last... trial is," he said beaming pride. But seconds later, he looked defeated when no one reacted to his spectacular triumph.

"Cure a demon," Hermione said sympathetically. Kevin looked astonished and they quickly explained about the hotel, the angel, and what they had learned about the third trial.

It was in the next few seconds that they were again taken by surprise. Castiel appeared in the middle of the library, feet from Hermione, sprawled on the ground. He was still bearing bruises from the angel beating he had taken and blood was still pouring from the bullet wound.

"Hermi-one," he sputtered weakly and within the breath she was on her knees by his side. Three years ago the sight of anyone, let alone someone she loved, in such a state would have rendered her panic-stricken. But after the war she had lived through, not to mention other things, blood and bruising didn't bother her. All her focus was on what to do, how to help.

The others gathered around him, Dean quickly taking stock of his injuries.

"Doesn't look too bad. Knocked around a bit. Nasty bullet wound. Never seen something do that to an angel," Dean said quickly, pulling the blood soaked shirt up to look at the ragged skin. They carefully lifted him onto one of the library tables and set to work cleaning up his wounds. Hermione tried every magical remedy she had. She got the bleeding to stop by the hole wouldn't close and the flesh wouldn't fuse together. So she bound it as best she could, hoping that angels healed.

* * *

Castiel ambled slowly into the kitchen the next morning. Sam was sitting at the white table, drinking water clearly laced with medicine, surrounded by files. He had been there most of the night.

"Are you okay?" he asked looking at the pale angel.

"My wound isn't healing as quickly as I'd hoped... But I am getting better. And you're getting worse," Cas said, sitting at the table, looking at the youngest Winchester.

"Well, two trials down, one to go," Sam smiled.

"And the final test, do you - you know what it is?"

"I have to cure a demon," Sam said each word slowly. Even thinking on it all night, it still sounded ridiculous every time he said it.

"Of what?" Cas asked genuinely confused. Sam chuckled.

Hermione walked in yawning and smiled when she saw the angel.

"Hey," she murmured, sitting in the chair nearest him, her knees tucked between his. She gently brushed the side of his face and he closed his eyes, leaning into it, looking like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Their eyes locked for a long moment. Sam became uncomfortable; he felt like he was invading on a very private conversation. Trying to distract himself, he shifted his eyes back to his papers.

A few minutes later, Dean came in fully dressed. Hermione and Cas were holding hands, Cas sitting contentedly with his eyes closed and Hermione, reading through the file that had been sitting nearest her. Dean smiled to see the angel up already.

"Hey man, good to see you," he grinned as Cas opened his eyes and smiled at the brother. Dean threw open the fridge, staring at the bright white, nearly empty contents.

"Geez... guess I need to make a supply run," and he let the door shut. "I'll grab breakfast while I'm out," and he snagged up his keys and jacket off the counter, making for the door. As soon as he shut the door, Sam sat up a little straighter.

"7b... 7b..." he murmured and he made to stand. It was shaky and unbalanced. Hermione instinctively moved to help him. Had it been anyone else, Sam would have pushed them away. But he never pushed her away. When she offered a hand or tried to help, he always let her. She smiled, wanting to take care of him. And he smiled, enjoying the mothering.

Down through the bunker, Sam stumbled, leaning on Hermione every now and then. Castiel walked beside her, letting her help Sam and smiling all the while. When they found the room, Sam told them what file number that the file in his hand had mentioned. After a few minutes, Castiel lifted the dusty box onto the metal table. In the same moment, Sam gave a great heavy on some wire shelves and they shifted across the floor.

He looked back at Hermione and Castiel with a surprised face, "I saw shadows back there and I thought there might be something," and he continued on into the space.

The dark black room held the tang of salt and iron. There was an evil looking chair laced with manacles in the middle of the room. Surrounding the chair was a huge Devil's Trap. Hermione swallowed hard, paled, and looked pointedly away.

"I guess we have a... chamber," Sam said, pointedly avoiding the word torture. Cas was fishing in the box, uninterested in the chamber, feeling the sickness and evil pour. There had been dark things done in that room; things that left a permanent mark. He found a tin with the file number Sam had named on it and held it up.

"Sam," he said. The brother looked at it curiously and smiled.


	37. Chapter 37

The three of them sat staring at the dark screen. What they had just watched didn't make much sense and, to be honest, was a little disturbing. Abbadon, or the young woman whom Abbadon was currently wearing, was videotaping two priests exorcise a demon. Or at least that is what they claimed to be doing but it was unlike any exorcism they had ever seen. .

"That wasn't a normal exorcism. They changed the words," Sam mumbled looking confused.

"I believe "lustra" is Latin for wash or cleanse," Castiel added slowly.

"Are they always that... bloody?" Hermione asked.

"No," Castiel murmured and he slowly wrapped his hand around hers as he continued to read the file over Sam's shoulder.

Sam discovered that the older priest in the video had passed not long after this had been taped by the younger priest still lived in St. Louis. They decided to wait for Dean to come back from the supply run - in that time the other inhabitants of the bunker had ambled in. Clutching cups of coffee they all gathered around the dark topped library table, discussing what was in the box. Minutes after Ron, the last to rise, was seated Dean returned. Cuing up the film again, they all watched the unusual exorcism.

"What do you think?" Sam said looking expectantly at Dean but it was Harry that spoke first.

"What was supposed to happen in that video?" Harry looked as confused as the rest of the trio felt. Having talked to the brothers about different things and gone a few smaller runs themselves, they had seen quite a bit of the supernatural. But none of them had seen or performed an exorcism.

"Usually an exorcism is Latin that expels the demon in black smoke from the meat suit; hopefully leaving it alive. This looked almost like the priest was trying to "clean" the demon or something - that is why he changed the words," Sam explained before a fit of coughing overtook him.

"So this could be..." Ron started.

"How to cure a demon," Kevin said still staring far away at something they couldn't see.

"Seems like we need to pay this priest of a visit," Dean finally said. Sam was thrilled and he stood up quickly, only to fall sideways onto Ron's lap. Helping the giant man get back on his feet, Ron stood behind him, looking hard at Dean.

"Sam, I don't know if you are up for this, man," Dean said, eyes leveled on his brother. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean looked down and continued talking, "Sammy, you can't even stand up. I can't drag you into who knows what and have to worry about you passing out. Besides," and Dean glanced at Ron who gave a swift, shallow nod, "I won't be alone. Ron will go with me." Everyone turned to look at Ron who grimaced like it was a burden he would bear. Inwardly, he was thrilled just to have something to do.

* * *

The church they walked into was vast and old, with rough stone lining the walls and simple stained glass filtering the sunlight that poured through the high windows. There was an old priest waiting near the front of the church; they had called ahead. Ron borrowed one of Dean's fed suits, being just a little too short for Sam's. He chaffed slightly at the restrictive collar and hard shoes but matched his partner step for step up to the front of the church. After brief introductions, they began asking questions, looking for the answers they had driven halfway across the country for.

"Father Thompson had some unorthodox ideas, which is why the Men of Letters were interested in his research," Father Simon said as they ambled through the church.

"Unorthodox how?" Dean asked.

"He believed that demons could be saved."

"What exactly do you mean, 'saved'?" Ron asked with furrowed brows.

"A demon is a human soul, twisted and corrupted by its time in Hell. Father Thompson believed that you could wash that taint away and restore their humanity," he finished slowly looking at the two men. Dean's face tightened as the wheels turned in his head.

Conversation continued for a few more minutes. They learned that this Father Simon didn't know much more because that night they had witnessed on the film had been overwhelming for him. Not long after, Father Thompson had died but they discovered that he didn't just die; he had been ripped apart in his study. Father Simon seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable with the conversation. Finally, they asked if he had any records from Father Thompson. Relieved, he nodded and went to fetch the box. When he returned, they bid him good bye and left the church.

* * *

 _"The date is August 3, 1958. This is trial 19, hour 1. My subject is Peter Kent. Mr. Kent is the father of two young sons, and three weeks ago, he was possessed by a demon. I'm going to ask you a question now. When you crawled into Mr. Kent and ate his children, how did it feel?"_

 _"Orgasmic. Aah!"_

 _"The first dose has been administered."_

They continued to watch the video; the Father dosing the chained man with sanctified blood every hour. Each hour the man seemed more reserved, more pensive.

 _"Hour 8, the subject is prepped."_

 _"Aah! Aah!"_

 _"Exorcizamus te,omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra! Lustra! When you ate his children, how did it feel?"_

 _"They were screaming...and I laughed. Why did I laugh? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God, I was a monster."_

 _"But now you are a man again. And you have been saved."_

"Did he just... Cure a demon?" Ron asked. He and Dean were sitting in a reserved room in an old library a few hours outside of St. Louis. They had decided to go through the research from the dead priest before heading back to the bunker; in case there was more they need from the road.

"It looks like something happened," Dean said, unwilling to believe completely what they had just heard on the tape recording. The tantalizing dream of closing the gates of hell was getting closer and closer so of course Dean did what he always did when anything seemed easy or good; he doubted.

"We gotta get back to the others. See what they think," Ron was excited, curious why Dean wasn't as well.

"Slow down, man. We don't even know what we saw yet. I would have hate to bust in like Santa only to break more hearts," he was thinking of his already frail brother. "Maybe we try this first." Ron paled under his freckles.

"T...try it? Like with a demon?" he spoke quickly.

"Look, it will be fine. Sam and I have mastered how to trap these rats. Besides, the hard work is done. I know where we can find one," his wicked grin did nothing to make Ron feel any better.

* * *

They spent the better part of a day driving around Kansas and areas close to it, stopping at two or three storage facilities. Each time, Dean grabbed one or two old locked tool boxes, tossing them into the back of the Impala. Each time he touched one, Ron's stomach got cold because Dean had explained what was inside.

As evening arrived and shadows started to dance across the world, they were sitting in an abandon warehouse. Using a combination of magic (most to help hold or lift) and an old fashioned field surgeons kit that had belonged to John Winchester, Dean and Ron had built a demon. Sewing together hacked apart pieces of what had once been an attractive auburn haired woman, the one that Ron recognized from the first film. Dean spent time stressing to Ron how dangerous this particular demon was; not just a run of the mill soul snatcher but a Knight of Hell. She was one of the first and strongest and she was out of her time, having time traveled behind his grandfather. Ron knew enough about time travel to know that made her more dangerous.

The ground around her had to be consecrated; they hoped that would slow her down. Still, they shackled her in spell bound chains to the chair.

Ron was extremely pale as they started the process, having never really hardened to the sight of carnage. Slowly his stomach calmed and he was able to separate the horror in front of him from his emotions; to approach it as a job. Inwardly he smiled, he picked up more habits from these remarkable brothers everyday.

Finally, her neck was secured so they stood back and waited for something to happen. Ever so slowly, the large eyes blinked and when the lids peeled back, they were black and lifeless. To Ron's credit he didn't flinch, just hardened his stare at the monster.

"Morning, sunshines," she purred. Dean stared hard at the monster, his eyes sparkling behind the barely concealed disgust on his face. She smiled and it was sickening, with the jagged stitch lines across her neck and the dried blood running down her skin.

"I can't wait to tear out those pretty green eyes," she spoke softly, eyes on Dean.

"Good luck with that," Ron growled and she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Her brows scrunched together curiously.

"We figured kitty didn't need her claws," Dean smiled as his eyes flicked to the tool box still holding the severed hands of the monster. Her frustration was evident as she jerked angrily, forgetting the curious red head for a moment.

"Then I'll stump you to death. It'll be swell," she hissed. As she jerked hard and harder confusion filled her horrible face.

"The bullet - remember?" and Dean's smile was genuine, he was so pleased to have her trapped. "So you sit there like a good little bitch and you're gonna get to fessing up," he turned toward the small dirty table where he and Ron had laid what they would need for the procedure.

"Oh, I know this tune," she laughed.

"I doubt that," Ron growled, growing weary of the sick taint pouring from the beast.

"Father Max Thompson, born October 12, 1910. Died August 5, 1958. Who do you think ripped him apart? Word got back to home office that Maxie was messing with things, so we paid him a visit. It wasn't my most artful kill, but it was effective. And bonus - before he died, he told me all about Josie Sands. I found her, and I rode her into the Men of Letters," Abbadon licked her teeth as she finished the story, smiling at the shock on there faces, "And what I did to them, that was art," nothing but malice and evil poured from her eyes.

Dean and Ron looked long and hard at the demon, trying to decide how much was truth. Dean broke the silence.

"So you know what Max was doing?"

"Fella screamed the basics... but it'll never work," she looked from under her heavy lashes smiling.

"You keep telling yourself that," Ron said as he turned to arrange the needles on the table.

At that same moment, Dean's pocket started to ring. He pulled the phone out, frowned on looking at the screen and clicked the answer button. The silky voice poured from the ear piece.

"Hello, Squirrel."

"Crowley," Dean replied shortly.

"Crowley? The salesman?" Abbadon looked confused.

"Try the King of Hell," Ron snapped, staring at Dean, waiting to see what the other demon wanted.

"This is a joke, right?" Abbadon said, anger dripping in her voice. Dean rolled his eyes and jerked his head towards Ron. Together they stalked from the large room to the gravel driveway out front. Ron shouted, "STAY!" over his shoulder as they left. Neither of them saw Abbadon smile.

* * *

Dean and Crowley snapped at each other briefly. After he clicked the off button, he continued to stare at his phone. The light that flashed on his face showed he was reading something. Worry lines etched into his face and the color started to drain as he scrolled down the screen.

"Dean?" Ron ventured, "What did Crowley want?"

"He uh... he sent me a news article about a guy Sam and I saved... a long time ago. Seems his head exploded," Dean clicked the phone off on the last words as he looked up at Ron. They both knew that if Crowley was drawing attention to this, he was behind it. But they didn't have time to chase the skirts of the King of Hell right now; they had bigger fish to fry. Nodding to one another, they stalked back into the dim warehouse to proceed with the ritual that neither was looking forward to.

However, even in the dim light, they could see that the chair holding the demon was empty. Their stalk turned to sprint as they came up to the area to confirm their fear.

"No. No! No! No! No! She's gone. She's - son of a bitch!" yelled Dean as he rubbed his exhausted face. Ron crouched down and picked up the bloody bullet she had left behind, with the star etched into the tip. Again, Dean's phone chirped. He growled as he looked at the screen.

"It is a text message from Crowley - an address in Prosperity, Indiana... Sam and I worked a case there a while ago. Come on, we gotta go," without further conversation, they hastily gathered their tools, dumped them in the trunk of the Impala and peeled out of the gravel and weed strewn driveway, flying towards Indiana. Dean wasn't sure what game Crowley was playing but he knew that it wasn't going to end pretty.

* * *

It was dark when they pulled up to the house that matched the address they had been given. After walking right through the unlocked door, into the dark interior, they found what they were hoping they wouldn't. Ron stared at the dead girl as Dean frowned and turned away. He pulled out his phone, clicked 2, and waited for Sam to answer.

After a few minutes of conversation, in which Dean failed to mention Abbadon, he hung up. Before he even put the phone back in his jacket, it rang.

"Crowley," he said with menace in his voice as he answered, "What the hell are you doing, Crowley?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm killing everyone you've ever saved - the damsels in distress, the innocent whippersnappers, the would-be vampire chow - all of them," Ron could hear the demon through the speaker phone that Dean was holding between the two of them. Ron looked at the brother who had his eyes shut tight in despair.

"When you boys hit a town, you tend to leave a mess. Now, you're probably wondering why my droogs aren't in there giving you the bum's rush, so let's brass these tacks, shall we? I'm gonna gut one person every 12 hours until you bring me the Demon Tablet and stop this whole trials nonsense. Indianapolis, the Ivy Motel, room 116. You have 57 minutes."

The phone call disconnected and the two men looked at one another. Practically running, they got into the Impala and headed into the dark to fight Dean's worst nightmare. They made more calls; to share information, to try to make some kind of plan.

All the while driving, Dean felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't stop the images that surfaced in his mind, no matter how much he tried to bury them or drink them away. A beautiful slim brunette with patient eyes and a melting smile. A teenage boy with a trusting face and a good heart. There had been a time when they had been Dean's family; he still dreamed about it although he wasn't sure if they were dreams or nightmares. Because of him, they had suffered so much. That was why he had erased himself from their lives. They were better off without him, or so he told himself.

That is why he and Sam kept moving, didn't form ties. Ties to them were dangerous, deadly even. And now these people who had no real ties were even in danger. Grinding his teeth, he slowly pressed his foot down.


	38. Chapter 38

Breathing heavily, they sat in the hotel room that had been ripped apart, staring at the minuet hex bag that had exploded out of the cell phone Dean had flung across the room, the last hour replaying in their minds.

Dean had phoned those still at the bunker to let them know what was going on. Sam had been desperate to come but Dean had flat out refused him. But he knew they needed back up so it was decided that Harry and Castiel would meet them at the hotel while Hermione and Kevin stayed with Sam. They had apparated there and waited for the others to roll up. Upon entering the hotel room they found a woman named Sarah- Sam and Dean had helped her family with a painting problem years and years ago, back before hunting was so complicated. She handled the news they delivered with a surprising amount of grace and they set about fighting the good fight.

But they had lost. Crowley had opted for witchcraft; dark witchcraft. And she had suffocated despite their best efforts. Crowley monologued during her death, discussing his plans and what he was setting about to do. His words were the background to the mental movie they were each watching. That unwelcome, desperate hopelessness flooded Dean from the top down, drowning him and making focus on anything nearly impossible.

Harry and Ron had never felt so useless; they had warded every inch of that hotel room as best them knew how. Ron felt guilt pierce through him; magic. That was supposed to be their area of expertise and they had missed it. He couldn't help feeling responsible for the woman that lay on the floor staring at nothing. Her lifeless eyes held his against his will.

Castiel slowly walked around the room and within the time it took him to complete one lap, the room was righted and cleaned, Sarah laying in her bed looking peaceful; like she was sleeping.

"We should go," he said quietly. Without asking, Ron apparated Dean into the car, followed quickly by the other two men. The roar of the Impala ripped through the night air and the sleek black vehicle pulled out of the parking lot, headed home.

* * *

Sam had been crushed to hear the news about Sarah. After Jessica's death, she had been the first girl that had caught his gaze. As he sat absorbing the news, he thought about her. He hoped with everything he was that she had been happy, before everything. That in the years between the Winchesters visits, she had lived a good, full life.

After the initial shock of what had happened, conversation began. What should be done? What could they do? Slowly, piece by piece the beginning of a plan emerged. It seemed hopeless. It was certainly reckless. But it was their only option. Steeling themselves for the path they were about to walk, each of them went about the last few hours they had.

Ron headed slowly for the shooting range in the basement of the bunker, to blow off steam. The repetitive, mechanical motions of loading and shooting were therapeutic. Clip after clip hurdled through the 9mm in his hands, shredding the target fluttering in the windless range. His shots became less measured, less careful. They were more rapid and erratic. After the fifth clip, his eyes were blurred with tears and he unloaded each shot without much knowledge of where they were headed. Slamming the hot pistol down on the steel counter, he hung his head and little drops of water splashed down.

"Ron," Dean's gravelly voice broke the silence that had filled the shooting range after the last shot fired. He walked slowly into the room. Ron hastily rubbed his eyes, and turned to face the brother, hoping his face wasn't red.

"Hey Dean, what's up?" he said through a forced smile. Dean stared at him knowingly, head tilted down practically looking through young man.

"Not much man, you?"

"Oh, nothing. Just uhh... letting off some steam," Ron said as he turned and he realized that the target he had been using was a pile of ash on the concrete; he must have incinerated it on accident. He closed his eyes slowly, turning back to the oldest Winchester.

"Ron, listen. What happened at that hotel..."

"Dean, don't. I'm fine," Ron's smile slipped from his face

This time it was Dean that smiled, "Kid, you are spending too much time around us. That is Winchester for "Everything is more than messed up." What happened in that hotel room was not your fault," he stopped walking and talking, a few feet from Ron, looking at him with such compassion in his face. Ron thought for a moment of continuing his hard front, bottling the feelings and thoughts he had. But the crack in his voice when he spoke betrayed him and his resolve broke.

Everything came out. His guilt at failing to save Sarah. The shame he felt at his weakness in the face of what had to be done. The emptiness the he felt. He kept talking; he wasn't sure why. He trusted Dean, more than he trusted most people.

As he talked, Dean listened quietly. He understood and his heart broke. He saw so much of himself in this young wizard. Ron took on responsibility that wasn't his because he didn't want it to burden anyone else. He gave up anything and everything willingly for the happiness of those he cared about. And everything that he had been through, no matter how tough he played, left a mark on him. It dug into him, deep dark wounds that would never wash away, never fully heal. Slowly they would change him, build a new man.

Dean listened and as he thought about Ron and what he had been through, his eyes got red and before he was thinking he grabbed the boy and pulled him into a hard hug. Ron stopped mid-sentence. Shocked he stood stock still before he hugged him back, comforted by the friendship, by the care.

Dean pulled back, thumping Ron on the shoulder.

"Listen, man. This life, the things you have been through. They take a toll. I wish I could say that it will go away and you can walk away from all of this. But you can't, you never will. All you can do is figure out how to walk with the bags you carry," his eyes crinkled as he smiled, "But you don't walk this alone. You have friends who love you."

* * *

"Hello, Scooby Doo Gang," the short man in the perfectly tailored black suit stared at the motley crew approaching him. They had waited for the King of Hello to call and when he did they had struck a deal. Waiting in the remains of Singer Salvage, they had come to make a deal with a demon. Once Crowley had arrived they had poured from the shadows to meet him. Dean, Sam, Ron, Hermione, and Castiel. Harry had stayed behind at the bunker with Kevin.

"Where's the stone?" the demon said, his smile shrinking.

"Don't worry about that. We'll make good. What about your end of this?" Dean barked.

Crowley flung a huge scroll from thin air towards the group, smiling. Dean set his mouth hard and bent to pick up the paper.

"Yeah, cause that is all kosher."

"The highlights -you halt the trials and I stop using your legacy as target practice," Crowley spoke quickly. Clicking the pen in his hand, Dean bent over the bottom of the paper.

"Unh-unh-unh," Crowley snapped, yanking the contract out of his hand, "Nice try, squirrel. Moose is doing these trials. Moose signs." The brothers exchanged a heavy look. Dean handed Sam the pen but turned back to the paper, reading each word while they waited in the sunlight. Step by step they moved closer to Crowley, minds split between the contract and the moments to come. Once they were a few inches apart, Dean looked up slowly at the other man, hardness etched on his face, and moved quickly. Iron clanged as magicked handcuffs closed around the wrists of the demon and Dean smiled.

* * *

The crew riding in the Impala as it rolled down the road towards a small, abandoned church a few miles from the bunker was an odd assortment indeed. Dean rode in the backseat, shackled to Crowley, who was crammed in the middle. Ron rode on the other side, his wand laying on his lap. Hermione drove while Castiel and Sam were smushed into the front seat with her. When they pulled up to the little white building with peeling paint, the sun was on its downward descent in the sky. Dean drug Crowley into the church, with Ron and Sam following behind him totting duffle bags.

Castiel and Hermione walked the perimeter of the church, eyes peeled for trouble, Hermione laying wards and enchantments on the very edge of the property line. Once they were convinced they were alone and that there were as many wards in place as they could manage, they kept watch over the darkening day standing a few inches apart.

Castiel tensed for a moment, eyes seeming to focus on something in the distance that Hermione couldn't see.

"Someone's coming," he said quietly. Within a breath, he was holding his angel blade and Hermione had her wand poised. After a few long moments, Hermione could see the dark shadow that was moving closer to them.

"That can't be..." Castiel said with a hard edge in his voice.

"Cas, what?" Hermione asked, looking from the angel to the shadow.

"Naomi," he spat. Hermione tensed along with the angel and she looped her soft fingers through his, grounding him to the here and now, pulling him from the murderous edge she could feel him teetering on. She knew how he felt about the monster moving in the darkness and she couldn't say she felt different. But if she had learned anything, it was that hate never convinced anyone.

"Castiel, please. I need your help," the voice in the darknes broke as she moved close enough to see the redness of her eyes. Her hands were held in front of her in a sign of surrender. Cas looked at the woman through squinted eyes.

"That's... funny," he said slowly, adopting some of the sarcasm that he had imbibed in his time with the Winchesters.

"Please, listen. It's Metatron. After he surfaced, he started doing... something. We just recently caught up with him. But he is very strong... and stubborn. He said you would know more. Castiel, we are desperate to stop him. I have been in his ... refuge but he isn't there. There are four dead angels already Castiel and a nephilim. We don't know what he is planning but..."

"And why should I care, Naomi? What could possibly make you think that I would believe a word that comes from your poisoned mouth?"

"Castiel... please. We don't what he is planning on doing. The Winchesters were the last ones to talk to him. We were hoping that..."

"You hoped wrong. We don't know anything and even if we did, you would not be high on our contact list," Dean growled as he poured from the shadows of the church to stand beside Castiel. He leveled a hard look at the angel who had tortured and controlled his best friend. Naomi looked desperately at the three glaring at her. Defeat filled her face as she looked to the ground and heaved a deep sigh.

"I know you hate me. But please understand this is bigger than me. When its over, remember that I asked for your help," and with a soft flutter she vanished and shadows filled the land around her.

* * *

Hours later they sat in the dark little church. Candles flickered around the edges of the room where the King of Hell was shackled to a chair amid a hastily painted Devil's Trap. Four empty syringes sat on a dirty, weathered table. Four more sat next to them, full of thick red blood, lined up for the next four hours.

"What if Naomi's concerns are justified?" Castiel murmured to Hermione as they sat against the wall. She had her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her legs. Her head rested on Cas' shoulder he sat cross legged looking at the stars through the broken glass in the church windows. Hermione slowly lifted her head and looked into the angels eyes. Like a book sitting with its pages towards the sun, she could read him so clearly. His doubt, anger, guilt, all swirling away. And she smiled. Slowly she leaned up and kissed him. Softly, just enough to dull the hardness on his face and relax the tightness in his shoulders.

"Then you know what you need to do," she whispered as she pulled an inch or so away. She knew she couldn't change him and she would never try. His heart was one of the best parts of him and she knew that it would break if he thought there was something he could do and didn't do it.

He smiled back at her and kissed her softly between her closed eyes. Then shuffling to his feet he walked over to where the brothers were sitting, tall bottles in their hands, eyes closed against the scenes around them. Muffled words were spoken and heads shook. Eventually Castiel and Dean walked back over to Hermione who had moved to stand with Ron. They were floating small fire balls through a candle flame just to kill time.

"We'll be back as soon as we can," Dean said in heavy voice that showed his doubt. It also showed his loyalty because despite it he was step for step beside Castiel. Hermione had filled the boys in on Naomi's visit and Castiel's intentions.

"Let me come with you," she said softly, looping her hand into the angels. "I can help." Castiel tilted his head looking at the young witch with concern. Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

"Cas," was all he had to say. He knew from experience that the angel had a habit of pushing away those that he cared about when he thought he was protecting them. In truth, that was when the angel needed the most protection himself. Castiel grimaced but nodded and the three of them walked towards the door of the church. Several yards past the steps of the church they disappeared with crack and pop off into the darkness.

* * *

 _Reviews are very much appreciated :)  
_


	39. Chapter 39

The darkness pressed in like a heavy cloth around the small church. There were still three full syringes sitting on the table. Any kind of conversation seemed useless; Sam was teetering on the edge of functional as it was. Leaning against the cold wall of the little church, head leaned back against the stone, his eyes were shut. Ron had taken up a silent vigil next to the youngest Winchester. He was more alert and attentive than usual, intent on protecting Sam through his trial. So he heard the rush of wind in the night. Only seconds later the church doors slammed off their hinges and in stepped the demon that had escaped from him and Dean.

"Hello, boys," she purred with a poisoned voice as she stepped into the dim candle light.

"That's my line. Abaddon? They told me you were dead," Crowley said confused as Ron leaped to his feet and Sam struggled to his.

"So not," she sarcastically snapped.

"And the rest of the cavalry?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, looking past the Knight of Hell.

"Oh, no, it's just little, old, unkillable me," and an evil smile played on her bloody face. Ron reached his hand towards the pocket where his wand was stowed. The movement caught Abaddons' eye and she threw her hand up. Sam and Ron slammed into the wall of the church so hard that Sam lost consciousness. All the while Crowley was sitting, smiling from his confines.

"That'll do. Undo these. I'll kill them myself," Crowley pulled at the chains holding him. Abaddon shifted her gaze from the humans to the demon in front of her and the smile slid from her face. It was replaced with disgust and anger.

"That was an order, was it?"

"I am your King."

"About that..." and she waltzed towards the man clad in black and leveled a punch at his face. She slammed her fist into him so hard that his whole body, chair and all, slammed backwards onto the stone floor. Crawling over the bottom of the chair, she hit him hard over and over. As the blood trickled down the side of his face she spoke in a low voice through gritted teeth.

"Do you know what I find the most shocking about time-traveling through a closet and landing in the year 2013? Somebody thought it was a good idea to make you the King of Hell," and she slammed her fist into his head again followed quickly by her boot which rendered him unconscious.

With a self-satisfied smile she turned her back on the bloody demon, just in time to see Ron level his wand at her while Sam, struggling to stand along side him, chucked the contents of a ceramic jug all over her. Red hot fire shot from the tip of Ron's wand and Abaddon was engulfed in holy fire and screams. For a long moment she burned in the church before black smoke and white fire flashed and she was gone.

* * *

Castiel, Hermione, and Dean spent the better part of the night following the bread crumbs left in Metatron's wake. Dead angels, dead humans. There was only a handful and they seemed to be unconnected. After pushing closed the eyes of a dead Cupid, Castiel walked carefully back to the others who were standing a few yards away.

"This makes no sense. I don't understand what he is looking for," frustration was evident in Castiels voice. Hermione looked sympathetically at him and Dean racked his brain to try and connect the dots. Castiel set his jaw in a hard line and sighed deeply.

"I will be right back," he said and disappeared in a flutter of feathers. Hermione and Dean looked at one another, mouths slightly gaped. Where had he gone?

* * *

Castiel walked slowly towards the room at the end of a well lit hallway. This place had a smell, a taint that leaked into him. His memories of the time he spent under Naomi's control were blurry but painful. He kept them buried as deep as he could. However, anytime they surfaced, there was a film over them like he was watching them on an old projector. But being back here, where it happened, they were sharp, clear, and painful. It took more energy than he had anticipated, almost more than he had, to stay focused on what needed to be done, to not let his emotions influence what he chose to do.

The door to the room stood just slightly ajar, almost like Cas was supposed to see what was going on inside. Naomi was bent over a chair that was laid nearly flat back. In it was a middle aged curly haired man with blood streaming down his face. The whir of a drill filled the air as small droplets of blood flecked Naomi's face. As the drill stopped and she stood up, the man in the chair spoke.

"You've been digging," his voice was labored and ragged.

"Why are you doing this?" she shouted in reply and there was genuine fear in her voice.

The only response that she received was a grim and manic smile. Naomi looked down at the angel with panic on her face. Then, in a rustle of feathers she was gone.

* * *

Hermione and Dean were sitting in the Impala near where Castiel disappeared; each lost in their own reveries, thinking about the path they had been down and the steps that were left for them to follow. It had been there nearly half an hour before anything happened. Suddenly a shadow danced in front of the headlights of the Impala. Dean and Hermione both looked up, snapped to the moment, to see the red haired angel standing there.

"I'm not here to fight you," she said in a loud voice with her hands held empty before her. Hermione and Dean slowly got out of the car without taking their eyes off her. "Where is Castiel?" she said with a quavering voice.

Dean and Hermione shot sideways looks at one another, neither wanting to reveal that they couldn't answer that question.

"What's it to you?" Dean snapped.

"Please - I need to talk to him. Metatron wants him... I don't know why. I have Metatron right now but I am not sure what he is planning. I just need to warn Castiel to stay away. Listen, I know you don't trust me and honestly you don't have any reason to. It was our original purpose to protect God's creation, I don't know when we forgot that. I want nothing more than to see you shut the Gates of Hell, but if Sam completes those trials, he is going to die.," and without another word she disappeared. Panic started to bubble in their minds.

"CAS!" they both shouted as loud as they could as they dove into the Impala.

* * *

Once Naomi had disappeared, Castiel slowly pushed his way into the room where Metatron lay strapped to the chair. On the metal tray next to him, slim lethal looking tools lay coated in layers of blood.

"Metatron?" Castiel spoke softly.

"Cas- Castiel?" he croaked "Oh, thank goodness. Listen, untie me and help me get out of here before she comes back," he fidgeted against the restraints as Castiel stood facing him.

"Metatron, why is she torturing you? Why are those angels dead?" he asked seriously.

"It was a misunderstanding. I never meant for that to happen. Please listen to me. We need to get out of here," he replied still struggling. There was a rustle and a small push of wind. Naomi stood in the room eyes wide with panic.

"Castiel! Get out of here! Now!" she flung her hand toward Castiel, meaning to banish him from the room. He flung his arm up in time to deflect her, staring hard at the angel. He staggered back a step, not because of the force of the spell but because he could hear Hermione and Dean screaming his name in his mind. Fear and panic lit up inside his chest and he hesitated, tempted to flutter back to his friends.

"Castiel, please, listen. I don't know what he is planning but he has been looking for you," both of their eyes flicked to the restrained angel, just in time to see that he was no longer bound. With a sickly smile he jumped to his feet, grabbed the drill nearest him and flung it hard at Naomi. She threw her hands up again, not to protect herself but to try and force Castiel from the room but the drill sunk into her temple before the force of her spell could hit. Tipped in the same lethal silver that forges the angel blades, the drill buried deep and the lights flashed from her face before Naomi crumpled.

"You should have listened to her, Castiel," Metatron purred as he twisted to look at the dismayed angel. Bringing his hand up as he spun, the butt of the angel blade he was holding connected with Castiel's jaw, knocking him backwards onto the chair. Bindings snapping over his forearms, Castiel struggled as he looked up at the dark angel.

"What is going on Metatron?" he growled.

"Do you have any idea what it would be like to be plucked from obscurity, to sit at God's feet, to be asked to write down his word? The ache I felt when he was gone, telling myself, "Father's left, but look what he's left us - paradise." He walked around the bound angel, staring at his feet as he walked.

"But then these Archangels couldn't leave well enough alone. They ran me from my home. Did they really think there'd be no payback?" Metatron stopped pacing to stare at the angel before him.

"Trials to close the gates of hell. Seems like it should work both ways, right? In a way it does. There is a spell... to seal up heaven. Heart of a nephilim. Bow of a cupid. Grace of a soldier," on the last word the blade in his hand flicked across the surface of Castiel's throat. White blue light seeped from the cut as he choked. Horrified, he watched his Grace leak into the vial clutched in Metatron's hands.

"And now something wonderful is going to happen, for me and for you. I want you to live this new life to the fullest. Marry that beautiful brown haired girl. Make babies. And when you die and your soul comes to Heaven, find me. Tell me your story. Now go," and with a flutter of his hand Castiel disappeared.

* * *

Lights were flicking past the car windows as Dean and Hermione tore through the night to the church where Sam was a needle away from finishing the trials and slamming the gates of hell shut forever. They were minutes away when a huge thud crashed into the backseat of the Impala causing Dean to curse and jerk the wheel sharply. Getting the car back under control he slowed down and pulled onto the edge of the little highway as Hermione twisted, wand raised, to see what was in the backseat.

Laying strewn and pale, unconscious in the backseat was Castiel. His face was turned towards the front. Just above his collar, on the front of his neck, looking out of place and livid on his pale skin was a faint pink scar that Hermione swore had never been there before.

"Cas?! Castiel!? Castiel, wake up!" she shouted reaching her arm back to shake him awake.

"What? Cas!" Dean yelled turning to look at his friend. "What is wrong with him?" Hermione climbed lithely into the backseat and pulled his head onto her lap, running her hands over his face and that strange thin scar.

"He's not dead. But I can't get him to wake up," she looked up at Dean, fear ringing her eyes. "What happened to him?"

"I don't know," Dean turned back towards the road and slammed the car into drive "But we got him back and now we need to get to Sammy."

It wasn't long after that they pulled up in front of the church. Night hung deeply around the crumbling rock. It seemed as if all the world was still, holding its breath. Ron sat on the front steps of the church, staring off into the night. After Sam had shot the second to last syringe into Crowley, he had barely made it back to the stool near the rickety old table. He sat there, hunkered over, drawing short sharp breaths. Ron had come to him, trying to help but he had waved him away and sat there, trying to stay conscious. That was where Dean found him when he walked into the church. Ron headed to the Impala to try and help Hermione with Cas.

Sam jerked around a little too quickly and nearly fell off the stool when he saw his brother. He looked at Dean, questions etched on his face. Dean took stock of the situation around him, noticing the unconscious demon in the shadows.

"Easy there. Okay. Just take it easy. We got a slight change of plan," Dean murmured walking towards Sam.

"What? What's going on? Where's Cas and Hermione?!" he sounded concerned.

"They're fine. Listen, you finish this trial, you're dead, Sam," Dean leveled a serious look at his little brother. Sam only looked surprised for a thought before he replied.

"So? Look at him. Look at him!" they both turned to look Crowley slumped over in the wooden chair, "Look how close we are! Other people will die if I don't finish this!" Without another word, Sam scooped the knife off the table near him, gripped the blade with one hand and sliced his palm open. Both arms glowed orange and white under the skin and soft light pulsed from the cut with each of Sam's heartbeats. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra, lustra," and he staggered towards Crowley, reaching to clasp his bleeding hand over the demons mouth.

"Sammy, stop!" Dean grabbed his arm to stop him from getting closer to Crowley. "Think about it. Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a Hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here. But I can't do it without you!"

Sam looked at his brother, brows furrowed in confusion, "You can barely do it with me. I mean, you think I screw up everything I try."

"Come on, man," Dean shrugged looking at his brother.

"Dean - listen, I know what you think of me," Dean opened his mouth to start talking but Sam spoke over him, "Listen, you want to know what I confessed before I pulled the blood? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again."

"Sam!"

"What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again?" Sam's face scrunched and his eyes got wet, red around the rim. "I mean, who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel, another - another vampire?" again Dean opened his mouth to speak but Sam raised his voice a little higher as he continued. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just –" but finally Dean had had enough.

"Hold on, hold on! You seriously think that? Because none of it - none of it - is true. Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that set you back on your heels. But, Sammy...come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you," Dean's voice broke with the last few words. He took a few more steps toward his brother. For a long, heavy moment he looked into his hurting eyes, willing him - begging him to stop. Sam looked from Dean back to Crowley and then slowly back to his brother before he spoke again.

"How do I stop?" and Sam squeezed his hand shut as a few more drops of blood splashed onto the dirty floor. Relief washed over Dean as he closed the distance to Sam and wrapped his arm behind his back.

"Just let it go."

"I can't. It's in me, Dean. You don't know what this feels like," Sam struggled to stay standing as the orange white light coursed down his arms, thrumming out of his hand. Dean whipped an old bandanna out of his back pocket and looped it around the wound, tying it off tightly.

"Hey, listen,we will figure it out, okay, just like we always do. Come on, Cas is in the car with the kids. He can fix you up," Dean supported Sam as they struggled to the door. With each step away from Crowley, each step that he took in time with his brother, the light and heat flooding off of Sam dimmed bit by bit. They emerged into the night, the cool wind dancing around Sam's boiling skin.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron had pulled Cas onto the cool ground next to the Impala. He was just starting to wake up when the brothers reached them. He sat up shakily, supporting himself with his elbows. Cas looked up at Sam and smiled. Sam smiled back only moments before he felt like his body was being ripped apart from the inside. Every bone felt like hot liquid metal and every organ turned to hard stone, refusing to function. He collapsed, sliding down the side of the old black car, landing inches from Castiel.

"Sam?! Sam?!" Dean yelled dropping to his knees near his brother. His eyes met Cas' in a silent plea for help.

"Dean... I can't," and as the words slipped from his lips a bright, blue yellow light erupted in the sky. Followed by another and another. They all sat crouching on the cold dusty gravel leaned up against the Impala as the sky filled with massive shooting stars. One after another the huge orbs appeared and seared through the night, leaving a flaming tail behind them. Yards from them a huge crash resounded as something slammed into the murky pond in the shadows

"What's happening?" Sam gasped.

"It's the angels. They're falling," Cas whispered as a tear slid down his pale cheek.

* * *

 _I would love feedback on where you would like to see the story go from here. Gadreel? No Gadreel? Early elimination of Metatron? Play out the Meta stories?_


	40. Chapter 40

_So I have diverged fairly heavily at this point. From this point on I will try to keep some of the key story elements of SPN such as (maybe) the Mark of Cain, etc. But other details will start shifting in response to my own story development. I appreciate feedback._

* * *

As the sun rose, stooped weary bodies sat heavily in well worn chairs feet from a hospital room. Inside that room, Sam Winchester was hooked up to half a dozen machines and fighting for his life. As the angels had fallen, Sam had faded completely, his body temperature spiking alarmingly. Rather than answer some very awkward questions, they had bustled everything into the Impala and sped to the nearest hospital.

As the machine flew down highway, Hermione had tend to Sam's damage body in the backseat. Muttering and moving her wand, she tried every spell she could think of and even made up a few in the moment. Nothing changed. She pawed for the beaded bag on her back under her shirt. Pulling bottle after bottle out, she tipped droplets onto his skin and into his mouth Although she was able to cool his skin, his breathing was still labored and he was unconscious.

Once they had reached the hospital, Ron left for the bunker. He hadn't returned yet. On a different day, his long absence would have left them worried. As it was, they barely had enough focus for all the smouldering piles at their feet.

As light filtered in and people moved about starting their day, Dean sat consumed in grief. Everything was moving in slow motion and he felt like his was free falling through a void. Doctors and nurses were rotating in and out of Sam's room, running tests and discussing results in hushed voices. Dean had been through enough hospital rooms to understand that what he was hearing wasn't good. _Internal burns? Nerve damage?_

But that wasn't the only disaster ripping his world apart; Cas. It had been hours after they had checked Sam into the hospital. They followed him from one floor to another until things finally slowed down for more than a moment. At that point he remembered the angel. Turning to him then, he raised the questions that had been in the back of his mind since that dark dingy little church.

"Cas, what the heck man? What happened back there?" he asked. Dean didn't mean to sound accusing but he heard the edge in his voice despite himself. Hermione looked from Cas' downcast face to Dean's questioning one.

"Dean... something happened... with is grace," and Hermione relayed the story that Cas had told her in fragments. The angel kept his gaze averted all the while, a soft pink flush running up the sides of his face, where a dim shadow of stubble was also starting to grow. When she finished, Dean was speechless. Even with the shattered pieces of his life around his feet, he couldn't imagine what Cas must be going through. _No grace?_ How was he functioning? Dean stood for a long, slow moment, absorbing the devastating information. At a loss for what to say, even in better circumstances, he placed a firm hand on Castiel's shoulder. Cas looked at his hand and then to Dean, hope kindling in his crystal blue eyes.

"It's all good, man. We'll figure it out, just like we always do," the deep raspy voice and the smile he wore, for all the pain pouring over his face, were genuine and they anchored Cas to the moment. He smiled back; his first smile as a human.

Just then, from the bathroom down the hall they heard a loud crack that no one else seemed to notice. It was a sound that only their ears were tuned for. Ron emerged followed quickly by Harry and Kevin Tran.

"What took so long? You've been gone for hours!" Hermione asked, suddenly realizing that the sun was fully up now.

"Whole bunker went into lock down. Took a few hours to figure out how to shut it down. We were also slightly freaked, not having the slightest idea what was going on," Kevin said slowly, sitting down in one of the vacant chairs in the hospital waiting room, tucking a green back pack between his legs.

"Makes sense now," Harry said somberly, looking at the weary faces around him.

"How is Sam?" Ron asked softly after a moments pause. Dean, who sat with his forehead perched on his fists, didn't move.

"We don't know a lot but the doctors seem really concerned. They ran a bunch of tests and they haven't found much of anything good," as Hermione shared the information, she tried to soften their blow, rubbing the palm of her hand across Dean's shoulders.

Bright, early morning light leaked through the thick windows as the sun moved from just over the horizon to a higher point in the sky. At some point another doctor came to talk to Dean, giving him more of the same news. As time passed, bits and pieces filled in the whole picture of the last 24 hours. Painful notes and bitter regrets were glossed and buried, with just the facts rising to the top, bringing everyone up to an even playing field. Emotions of all kind rippled through them. Regret, grief, shock, anger, fear, and desperation permeated the air creating a cloud and crackling gloom that blocked them from the rest of the world.

Sometime near 10:00 an older doctor with gray hair and silver glasses walked toward them. He was wearing an official looking name badge and carried a clipboard thick with papers.

"Mr. Winchester?" Dean creaked to his feet and opened his eyes slowly.

"Yeah." The doctor looked at him for a long moment, his eyes then passed around the group.

"Perhaps we should talk alone..."

"They're family," Dean replied quickly. So the doctor continued.

"I am afraid the news isn't good. The MRI shows massive internal burns affecting many of the major organs. Oxygen to the brain has been severely deprived. The coma is the result of the body doing everything in its limited power to protect itself from further harm. The machines will keep him alive a little longer but - "

"So that's it? No bounce back, no ifs?" Dean asked through crinkled eyes.

"I'm afraid your brothers fate is in God's hands now..." the voice of the doctor tapered off as a wry, pained smile smacked across Dean's face.

"You're a doctor. You're a medical professional. You're trying to tell me that my brother's life is in God's hands? What, is that supposed to be a – a comfort?" his voice rose the longer he talked and the disdainful smile turned to a fierce scowl as Dean stormed passed the doctor into his brothers hospital room, slamming the door behind him.

No one moved of spoke for a long moment, hearts breaking a new for their friends. Finally, Kevin looked up at the doctor.

"How much longer do you think he has?"

"At best... hours. I'm so sorry," and he slid his glasses back on and walked away. Each person sitting in the taupe and gray seating area thought about the battle going on in that hospital bed. Even though Hermione, Harry and Ron had not known Sam for long, they had been through more with him than most people went through in a life time. They loved him like family and it crushed them to hear such bleak news. Even more so, they knew what this was doing to Dean and it hurt them all the more. Silent, small tears slid down Cas' face.

In the mind of an angel, there are always multiple trains of thought moving all at once. As a human, Cas found his patterns of thinking confusing and it required a lot of effort to follow thoughts through.. Everything was so confusing and tinged by irrational and strong emotion. Even so, in all the coming and goings, he was struck by the fact that in his few hours as a human he had cried more than he had smiled. Maybe this is what humanity really was.

"I need a walk," Kevin muttered as he rose, shouldering the back pack. Hermione looked at him with concern in her eyes. "I'll be fine. With everything going on, I am low on everyone's hit list," and he smiled a pained smile as he moved through the hallway.

Cas gave Hermione's hand a small squeeze and headed to the small room. He raised his fist to knock but froze a few inches from the laminate wood. Heaving a large sigh, he slowly reached down and turned the silver handle, walking slowly into the room.

* * *

"Dean?" Cas asked softly coming into the room full of whirring and clicking. Dean sat inches from his brothers body, staring up at the pale thin face. His eyes were red and puffy but dry.

"Hey Cas, how ya doin man?" he asked in a crackling heavy voice. Cas smiled despite himself.

"I'm fine, Dean. And how are you?" Cas walked over to the other side of Sam's bed, looking softly with his head tilted at the oldest Winchester who chuckled.

"I'm fan-freakin-tastic. My little brother is lying hitched up to life support with a ticking clock. You're sapped of angel juice. Hell is still wide open and heaven has been purged leaving hundreds of live nukes rooming the ground in fancy new meat suits. Does that sum it up?" and he looked pained at his friend, "Man, what are we going to do?"

Cas wasn't such what to say. He looked slowly at Sam and then back at Dean.

"We'll figure this out."

* * *

Dean and Cas rejoined the others a few minutes later. Dean looked around the group.

"Where's Kevin?" he asked and they all looked around the little sitting area, realizing the prophet had not returned. Just then the elevator doors opened and out stepped Kevin. He wore a look that was determined but lined with weariness and suffering.

"Where were you are man?" Dean asked with squinted eyes. Kevin avoided his face, looking at this shoes as he sat down, again stowing that green backpack.

"Just getting some air," he mumbled. Almost as if on cue, the ding of the elevators door sounded again and two people stepped out looking around hard. One was a tall, thin man well dressed in a sharp suit with clean cut hair. The other was a short slim woman with a kind face in soft flowery clothes. They paused for a moment just outside the elevators doors before their gaze stopped, landing on the sad little group. Stalking towards the, their eyes never blinking, each person in the group was immediately set on edge. They slowly rose to their feet, maintaining the unwavering eye contact with the approaching strangers.

"Kevin Tran?" the man spoke in a robotic simple voice, eyes drilling into the pale prophet. Dean looked hard sideways at Kevin, who ambled forward slowly.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Answered prayer," the woman snapped. With those words, Dean rolled his eyes. His hand went forward to grab Kevin's shoulder but he was just beyond Dean's reach as he moved toward the angels.

"If you heal Sam Winchester, I can help you," Kevin said in a voice soft from fear despite the bravado he forced behind it. The woman smiled; a lethal threatening smile that clashed with her floral attire.

"You are not one to make demands of us, human," and with those words she reached a hand forward, rimmed and glowing blue.

In a world already spinning in slow motion, Dean watched the fingers wreathed in angel fire press onto the forehead of the prophet. His whole body glowed like his skin was thin paper, a white bright light flashing forth. It exploded violently from his eyes before he crumpled to the ground, smoke drifting upwards. As a backdrop to the chaos, screams echoed from handful of bystanders passing in hall.

The slow motion action playing out in front of them slammed into fast forward at a frightening pace. Thundering footfalls and shouts rang out. The two angels turned toward the cluster of people running to the aid of the man who was already beyond their reach. As they turned their backs, Hermione whipped her wand out, hurling a shouted curse towards the two. Despite the heat ripples the flowed from the tail of the curse, it did little more than damage the clothing of the well-dressed rogue angel. Hermione's eyes flew wide in understanding and terror but within a moment, the others flew into a well rehearsed action.

Standing nearest to Castiel and Dean, Hermione clutched each of their hands and disappeared with a loud crack. In the very same breath, Ron gripped Harry's shoulder with an iron hand as he stooped, reaching for Kevin's body. They too disappeared with a pop. But another pop was heard a moment later, just a few yards away, separated from the angels by a thin wall. In the span of the five long strides from the glowing angels, there was series of loud cracks. When they blasted open the door of the hospital room, a breathless brown haired young woman faced them with wide eyes. As they raised their hands, she vanished leaving behind nothing but an empty bed and a few loose cords.


	41. Chapter 41

Compounding terror and panic filled the chests of three bodies that cascaded into the backseat of the Impala, parked several blocks from the hospital under the shadow of a large tree. Without warning empty space suddenly opened up below Castiel and he flumped a few more inches onto the bench, Dean groaning followed suit. Seconds passed as they untangled themselves from one another. Dean flung himself over the bench into the front seat, sliding quickly behind the wheel. Three breaths later Hermione returned, seated next to Dean, out of breath and eyes racing as her mind reeled.

"DRIVE!" she screamed, flinging the tip of her wand at the console, causing the well-oiled engine to roar to life.

* * *

The hallway was dark and empty when Harry, Ron, and Sam landed out of the apparation. Each of the gray plain doors lining the walls closed and the rooms behind them quiet. It was just before sunrise on this side of the world. Sam was shaking violently laying on the cold tile, his eyelids slightly parted, the whites shining and spinning in his head.

"HELP! Somebody help!" Harry screamed down the vacant dark hallway

* * *

The Impala had gone several yards before Dean frantically clutched on to the wheel, looking at Hermione with terror on his face.

"Hermione, we have to go get Sam!" he shouted, reaching to throw the car into reverse.

"He's not there," she said quickly, out of breath.

"What do you mean not there?" Dean asked, to distracted to realize they were rolling out of town on the little highway.

"I pulled you two out, to the first place I thought of. I went back to grab Sam and got there just in time to see those angels bust into an empty room. I flung back into the waiting room but the only thing there was a pile of bodies," she said, gaining some composure after a few measure breaths. She kept her eyes on her knees, not feeling brave enough to look at Dean.

"So what, Harry and Ron snapped him out like you snapped us out?!" Dean asked, trying not to sound as alarmed as he was.

"That is what I am thinking. But we need to put some distance between us and those angels before we try to find them. They already killed Kevin and about half a dozen others, I don't think they are even going to hesitate in offing us. Where ever they are, I am positive they are taking care of Sam," she talked in a clear voice, looking at Dean and speaking slowly through the last few phrases.

"How can they be taking care of him Hermione? He's dying! What are they going to do, watch him die? I need to be there! He's my brother!" Dean thundered, anger now coloring the panic that already filled his voice. The speed of the Impala matching his dangerous mood.

"Dean..." Hermione started again.

"No! I need to find him," he barked.

"You are no good to him dead!" Cas shouted from the back seat. His voice seemed to take the edge of Dean's rampage. He paused long enough to catch his breath and clear his head in the moment. Cas felt relieved to have calmed the oldest Winchester because up until that point he had felt worse than useless in this entire fiasco.

"Where are we going?" Cas asked after several minutes of fast driving and quiet thought.

"Back to the bunker. Maybe that is where they took him..." and they continued the short drive to the bunker, each hoping and praying for what they felt was the best outcome.

* * *

After the healers had pulled Sam onto a bed and spoken half a dozen incantations over him, they hurtled him down that sleepy little hallway into an elevator and down another brightly lit, buzzing hallway, Ron and Harry keeping pace with them the whole time. Once the magic didn't seem to provide any information, an older surly looking healer started questioning them as they ran.

"What happened?" he asked, eyes on the recognizable face of Harry Potter. At a loss for how to explain that last 48 hours, he kept silent for a handful of steps.

"Dark magic, not sure, found him like this," Harry finally said, hoping that gave them something to go on. The healer responded quickly to the reply and the little party veered dangerously to the left down a hallway that seemed to have just appeared. Not slowing in their breakneck pace, they slammed into what Harry and Ron thought was a black door but they passed through it like a curtain, feeling the edges pulling on their clothes. Just beyond the veil, Harry and Ron skidded to a halt despite themselves. They had been through quite a bit of the magical world and seen things that even most and witches and wizards would never deal with. But this room was something that stopped even them in their tracks.

Impossibly large, dim in the reaches just beyond human vision, they weren't even sure how high the ceilings were or how far the walls went. Brightly lit in the middle of the room, there was an orb that glowed a faint purple color and crackled every so often like lightning. As the rolling bed approached, the healers tried to magick Sam's body up. After several swishes resulting in no movement, they hoisted up his body awkwardly and let him sink into the glowing sphere. It seemed to float, suspended in air.

Surrounding them, floating and moving as only magic could do, were dozens of shelves containing vials of any colored liquid. There were silver and gold instruments with purposes that they two young wizards could only guess at. Other containers and contraptions all floated and ambled around the space, moving to and fro seemingly in response to the thoughts of three healers bent over Sam Winchester.

As they stood around him, machines and shelves fluttered by. His body was scanned, prodded, scratched, sampled and dosed. After what seemed like ages but may have been a few minutes, the oldest healer that had questioned them stood up straight and heaved a deep sigh.

"He seems to be stable for the moment. We have him breathing and his blood is moving normally. But there is massive damage to his organs and brain. I am not sure what we are going to be able to do," he spoke in a heavy voice after he walked towards them. The dreadful news seemed to settle around them, sinking them just a little bit further into despair. It was no more than they expected but the disappointment was still sharp; whatever had happened to Sam as a result of those trials was beyond even the ability of magic to heal. That didn't leave much if any hope left in the two wizards.

They allowed themselves to be ushered through a small door to the left that neither of them had seen. Just beyond it was a private little room decorated in soft blues and browns with half a dozen large, squashy chairs and a table where tea had been laid.

"If you would like to wait here, we are going to try to assess the cause and extent of the damage. I will be back as soon as I can," and with that the healer left the two of them alone.

Ron turned to Harry then.

"I've got to go back. Kevin..." Harry's eyes softened in response to his friends concern.

"Ron... he's not coming back and apparating back is as good as suicide." Ron's face fell but deep down he knew that Harry was right. It was then that Harry shifted enough for Ron to see the green backpack over Harry's left shoulder. His brows furrowed at the sight of it and Harry, noticing his gaze, spoke.

"I was trying to reach Kevin but my fingers looped around this strap. I figured whatever Kevin was hauling around must have been important to him," and with that he slid the backpack off his shoulder and held it between the two of them, unzipping it carefully. Each pulled in a sharp breath at the sight of the contents before Harry zipped it back up even more carefully than before.

"Right... well, you stay here with Sam. I need to find the others," Ron muttered after a long pause.

"Where are you going to look?" Harry asked. Ron thought for a long moment before it hit him.

"The bunker! We were only about half an hour from the bunker. I'll bet you anything that is where Hermione took them." Harry could think of no better plan so after a hasty hug, Ron stepped two paces back and disapparated with a loud crack that echoed sadly in the little room.

* * *

Dean didn't even wait for the garage door to raise before he leaped from the car and raced into the bunker.

"Sammy! Ron!" he shouted as his feet hit the kitchen tile, Hermione and Cas a few feet behind. His heart broke and that familiar cluster of panic rose when he saw the dark, still, quiet interior of the bunker. He buckled over, hands on his knees, his stomach close to expelling what bile it still held. Where was his brother?

As Hermione reached Dean, she placed a reassuring hand on his back.

"I'm going to scry for them. We will find them Dean, don't worry," she looked softly at Cas, nodding as he moved to stand beside his friend, before she continued on into the shadows of the library to gather her crystals. She was halfway through the dark space when a loud crack echoed from the atrium. Attuned to the sound, Dean took off at a bolt towards the shadowy room. As he flew down the few steps into the space, his favorite red-head hurried forward from the shadows. Instinctively, Dean grabbed the boy and pulled him into a hard hug, he had been more worried about Ron than he realized.

As they came apart, Dean looked hard at the face of his friend, his questions written clearly in his eyes and the lines on his face.

"We got him. He's safe," Ron breathed quickly. Relief washed over Dean like a cold shower, moisture dripping from the corners of his eyes. Hermione and Castiel caught with them at that point and embraced their friend, relived at what his presence meant.

"We took him to St. Mungos," Ron said. Understanding dawned on Hermiones face while Cas and Dean looked equally confused. Hermione quickly explained. Then Ron quickly debriefed them of Sam's current condition. After a hurried conversation, it was decided that they would return to join Harry and Sam at St. Mungo's. Dispersing to gather supplies, Dean headed for the garage to pull the Impala in when he remembered the cargo he was carrying. Turning, he saw Ron looking tried, leaning against the doorway of the library. The wear and worry outlined the young man like the glow of a faraway street lamp. He decided to continue on his task alone when Ron looked up, catching the concerned look on Dean's face.

"I'm fine, long distance apparating always makes me a little nauseous. Bad past experiences," he said with a grim smile as he walked to the door where Dean paused. Knowing that it was more than that but deciding to allow the kid his privacy he patted him on the shoulder and explained what he was setting out to do.

After Dean pulled the old black muscle car into the dim garage, he and Ron walked toward the trunk, Ron with his wand in hand. Jiggling the keys and wrenching it open, the two looked down on the bound and gagged king of Hell. For all his pomp and swagger, he looked decidedly annoyed. They lifted him roughly from the small space, not taking time to straighten his generally disheveled appearance. Marching him sternly through the garage and into the kitchen, they continued not pausing until they reached that small room where Sam had found the grisly videos that had led them down the last leg of their journey. Jerking the wire racks at the back forward, they shoved Crowley into the tainted and spell-etched little chamber beyond. Shackling him to the stiff wooden chair they slid the gag out of his mouth at last.

"Well it is about time you over grown..." the demon spat, sweat pouring from the sides of his face.

"Can it, Crowley," Dean snapped as he turned to leave the room.

"You're seriously going to just leave me here," Crowley yelled, a shocked look on his face. Dean and Ron each pulled one side of the sliding racks closed, eyes on the demon one last time, not saying anything in reply.

* * *

Nearly half an hour later, as they were making their final preparations to leave, Ron wandered through the bunker looking for Castiel. Dean was trying to scrub away the marks of the last few days so Ron thought this would be the best time to discuss something with the angel... He paused in his thoughts. Angel... what was an angel without his grace? A man? With memories and the life experience of a celestial being. To Ron that seemed more than a man, despite the lack of power.

He found Cas sitting in the kitchen looking incredibly uncomfortable. Ron scanned the room and upon finding him alone he cleared his throat moving into the space. Cas looked up from his dead stare at the table, pain and discomfort drawn across his face. It caught Ron by surprise.

"Cas, man are you okay?" he asked quickly.

Cas shifted uncomfortably, holding a flattened hand to his side before replying.

"I have a shooting pain through my abdomen. I feel hollow and queasy. There are also this disquieting gurgles and squelching sounds," he explained matter-of-factly, looking slightly scared. Ron relaxed a little in his chair and smiled. Standing, he ventured to the pantry in the wall closest to the table. Pulling it open he grabbed a bag of chips and popped it open as he returned to sit across from Cas. The gurgling that concerned Cas sparked again as he looked at the bag with interest, eyes wide.

"You're hungry, Cas. Without your grace you have to eat now," Ron said as he pulled an orange, powder coated crisp from the blue cellophane bag and popped it into his mouth. Dropping the bag on the white plastic table, he spun it opening towards the confused man. Castiel stooped his head to peer into the contents of the bag. Responding the moaning from his insides, he reached an unsure hand into the bag and pulled out a large, triangular chip. Slowly he pushed it awkwardly into his mouth and chewed with a look of surprise and uncertainty. A long slow moment passed before he swallowed and spoke.

"These are... not what I expected," but he reached for another, moving a little more surely. Contented, Ron smiled and began to talk about the concerns he had that he would rather Dean not hear about. Cas answered his questions as best he could and together they came up with the outline of a plan that was, at best, frail. Despite that, neither questioned it because the alternative was even more bleak. Although they weren't sure which was more dangerous. Deciding to keep this between themselves, they stood to go about the last bit of preparation so that they could head to the hospital. Cas crumbled up the empty bag as he had watched the brothers do a hundred times, turned toward the wastebasket and attempted to shoot it into the opening as they always did. It bounced sadly off the side and Cas watched it land disappointed.

* * *

 _As always, would love any suggestions about elements you would like to see :)  
_


	42. Chapter 42

"Are you sure about this?" Cas asked for the third time as the ventured through dim little street. Ron rolled his eyes tiredly.

"No, but do you have another idea?" he asked exasperated. Cas furrowed his brows, indicating that he didn't have any other ideas.

Once they had all convened in the little waiting room, it had been much the same as it had been back at the muggle hospital. Waiting, hoping for something, anything. Hours later, the older healer had come into the room wearing an expression similar to silver haired doctor. Even with all the magical resources at their disposal, the best they could do was identify the source; they deemed it to be side effects of an angelic curse. But just as the before, they had no plan for how to heal or even stabilize Sam. His condition was simply deteriorating at a slower pace than before thanks to the enchanted intervention.

Not sure of what to do or where to go, all the bodies, pent with so much anxiety and fear, melted into the cushions and surfaces surrounding the room. After a few hours, much needed sleep claimed nearly all the dropping eyelids in the party, save for Ron. He sat, slumped in a way that made him look exhausted when in reality his mind was buzzing and racing, hashing out the details of what he was planning to do.

After Dean had finally surrendered to sleep, Ron edged toward a sleeping Castiel. Hermione was leaning against his arm so he slowly disentangled himself without waking her. Together they left the little room and made for the muggle world outside the guarded hospital.

Slow walking down the shadowed street, they kept their eyes on pivot, alert for anything out of the ordinary.

"So how exactly is this going to work?" Castiel prodded again.

"We tap into angel radio, ask for help, and hope for the best," Ron said trying to sound positive and happy when inside he doubted this more than anything he had ever doubted in his life.

"And how do you propose that we tap into angel radio?" Castiel asked.

"Prayer," Ron said turning them down another side street.

"But I am pretty sure that is what Kevin tried to do," Castiel replied with brows furrowed. No one spoke about it but they were all pretty sure that is what had attracted the angels to the hospital moments after Kevin had returned from his "walk".

"I am going to pray very, _very_ specifically," Ron said carefully. Together they talked through the words they would use to try and tune out unfriendly ears and tune in those that might be able to help them. Nearly half an hour later they had planned out the words that they wanted to use and rehearsed them in fractured pieces several times. Ron rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. As he prepared to close his eyes, he felt Castiel's hand wrap around his own. He opened his eyes to stare at the fallen angel curiously.

"While it is probably best that it isn't my voice that they hear, more than one soul gathered in prayer amplifies the range and hopefully... in this case... narrows the search," he finished with a hopeful smile. Ron smiled back reassuringly, gripped his friends hand and started the prayer.

"To those still loyal to the cause put forth by our Father in Heaven, to protect those who cannot protect themselves. To those whose anger is small in comparison to the pity they still feel for the suffering of those that they now walk among. To those willing to help those in danger no matter their sins, I beseech you. We ask for you help. In exchange, we offer all the help that we can. Help to return to heaven. Please."

Again and again Ron muttered the prayer in a soft voice pouring as much hope and desperation as he could into each syllable. Castiel stayed beside him, head bowed, eyes shut and every ounce of humanity that he had pouring into the words as he repeated them in his mind, hoping against hope that someone who could help would hear their prayer.

Minutes stretched into hours and the sun came up over the streets of London. Busy bodies began to bustle through the streets but no one paid attention to the two men linked together, heads bowed in prayer standing in the shadowy alley way.

That was until a tall man with a wide set jaw, curly close cut blonde hair and soft amber eyes stepped from the masses of people into the alleyway and walked quietly towards the two men, who were still immersed in their prayer.

"I heard your prayer," he said softly, startling them both. Castiel looked up hopefully, expecting to recognize the angel before them. He believed that there wasn't an angel in heaven that he didn't know but here stood one that he had never seen. Instead of the peace he expected to be feeling in the presence of angel, his face crumpled into uncertainty.

"Who are you?" he asked with a hard edge on his voice.

"Solomndriel," the stranger replied after a moments hesitation. Castiel looked hard again at the angel. Perhaps it was the old historian from heaven's libraries. It had been so long since Castiel had spent time there, maybe this was the librarian. Castiel decided to stow his indecision and focus on their present need.

"Fine, come with us," Ron turned and led the way back to the hospital. Along the way he explained as much as he dared to of the situation without actually using the words "Winchester" or "trials". The strange angel following seemed to understand enough, only missing half a step when Ron explained that he was a wizard and they were getting ready to head into the wizarding hospital.

They reached the guest entrance. Crowds continued to bustled by, paying no mind to the three large men that crammed themselves into a red phone booth, none of them reaching for the phone. After Ron punched a few buttons, the floor of the booth began to shift and they slowly slide downward and out of sight until the phone box was once again empty. Departing the box into the entry way of the Ministry of Magic they made their way to the connecting hallway to St. Mungos.

* * *

"This is not a good idea," Hermione snapped in a whisper as she stood in the hallway with Cas, Ron and the angel they were calling Saul.

"What other ideas do you have?" Ron snapped back at the young witch. They had explained their plan to her and she had vocalized all the concerns they had shouted down in their own head.

"What are you going to tell Dean?" she replied when she couldn't come up with a better plan. Castiel looked away pointedly as Ron replied

"We were thinking... not. Not telling him," he finished lamely.

"WHAT?!" she shouted back, forgetting to whisper. "SHHHHH!" they replied, listening to make sure that no one still in the waiting room woke up.

"Listen, we sneak Saul here into the room, let him do his healing mumbo jumbo and then scoot him out of here. No one has to be the wiser. Although, it would be really helpful if Dean didn't wake up during this little meeting," Ron said looking pointedly at the young witch.

"Wait... so not only do you want me to corroborate your deceit but you want me to spell Dean so he doesn't bust you?" she said incredulously. Ron nodded quickly.

"I want it on note that I said this is a HORRIBLE HORRIBLE idea," she said in a huff as she whipped around and stormed back into the waiting room. Moments later a soft yellow light shimmered under the edge of the door and Hermione reemerged moments later.

"There... he and Harry will be out for a few hours. I am going to get some coffee and this better be finished when I get back," and without another word she stalked down the hallway.

Looking solemnly at one another, the three men headed into the sick room where Sam was still suspended in the healing sphere. He was pale and looked thinner than before but his breathing was even. Ron and Castiel looked hard at the angel between them.

Solomndriel closed his eyes, reaching towards Sams' mind. Minutes passed and Saul opened his eyes, breathing hard and looking tired.

"This is... very bad. What happened to him?" the angel implored looking at the two. When they didn't reply, he pressed again. "I cannot possibly hope to heal him until I know what inflicted this damage. I could inadvertently make it worse without proper information."

Cas heaved a deep breath before shrugging off the green backpack, holding it in front of him.

"This... is Sam Winchester. He was undergoing the trials. But he didn't complete them and now the effects seem to be killing him. Can you save him?" Castiel explained softly. Saul had taken a step back when the name Winchester dropped.

"But that means you're... Castiel? You're the angel that Metatron stole the grace he needed... the grace of a warrior," Saul said in a hushed whisper. Instead of the indignation that Cas expected, he saw empathy. Surprised, Castiel shouldered the green backpack, proceeding cautiously. Perhaps they wouldn't have to spend their most valuable bargaining chip after all.

Castiel nodded slowly. Saul regained his composure and extended his hand towards the wounded Winchester. Another several minutes passed and he once again opened his eyes, looking tired.

"I can't... from here. I'm so sorry. The fall has weakened me considerably," although he didn't meet the eyes of either man as he said this. "The only way that I can help him is from the inside."

"Possession?" Castiel said with a definite edge in his voice.

"Temporarily you understand. I can regain my strength and heal him over time."

"How much time?" Cas asked.

"No more than is needed, I promise."

"Sam will never agree to that," Ron interjected.

"Then he will die," Saul stated matter-of-factly. Several heavy moments passed before they spoke again.

"Do it," Castiel finally breathed.

"What? How?" Ron stammered.

"There are ways that an angel can... persuade a vessel to permit possession," Saul said slowly.

"You mean trick him into permitting possession," Castiel blurted. Saul looked at him hard but didn't disagree.

They had been through so many different scenarios in their mind. This had never occurred to Ron but so far they had avoided so many of the other pitfalls he expected that it didn't seem unreasonable.

"Do it," Ron said.

* * *

Sam's eyelids fluttered open hours later. Disoriented at first, he slowly realized he was suspended in a giant sparkling purple orb. This did not reassure him.

"Dean," his voice was cracked and broken. Coughing hard once or twice he tried again, "Dean! Dean!" A door far to the side of the room where Sam was slammed open and his exhausted, red faced brother burst into the room.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean stared at him like he was a ghost. "You're awake! You're awake!" A trail of people followed Dean quickly into the room, looking ecstatic and talking enthusiastically. Hermione cast a sideways glance at Ron and Cas but said nothing; as far as she new the mystery angel had healed the brother and left.

None but Cas ad Ron new that deep in the psyche of the youngest Winchester there was an angel gently mending his body and soul. Putting on a brave and excited face, they each buried their shame and misgivings about the situation, hoping that no one would ever be the wiser and that all the possible terrible outcomes of this situation would never come to be.


	43. Chapter 43

_Taking chapters in bigger whacks - enjoy!_

 _Also, looking for another romantic duo to introduce to the plot - interested in feedback. Toying with Dean/? but not set on one._

 _Enjoy the fluffiness and feel-goods._

* * *

"Dean, as best we can tell your brother is on the mend. He still has some internal bruising and his heart is pretty weak but each day he is improving. I've never seen a miracle but that is the only way that I can explain this," the healer, Alan, whom they had gotten to know well over the last few days, just shook his head. Dean smiled and continued talking to the wizard while the others helped Sam walk to the door and get ready to leave.

"I am sorry that we can't advise that he aparate right now- have you been able to find other means of transportation?"

"Yeah - we are going to stay with some friends nearby," Dean said already thinking fondly of Molly Weasley's cooking.

"Good, good... listen, if he takes a turn for the worst or anything... weird happens, please contact us. We have become very fond of you two," the old healer smiled and gripped Dean's shoulder reassuringly.

Sam had awoken nearly a week ago. He had been disoriented and weak, but healing. For reasons that none could explain his body was slowly and meticulously healing from the inside out. They ran every test they could think of on him and nothing seemed to register. They said there was an odd aura pulsing from the inside but they couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Sam had been strong enough to walk around yesterday so that is when the healers of St. Mungo had given him clearance to be released. Since they worried about the effects of apparation and an over the ocean broom ride was preposterous, Ron's mum had welcomed them back to the Burrow. Dean hadn't even checked with Sam before he accepted the hospitality.

Finally stepping into the sunshine outside the visitors entrance, they waited while Hermione hailed two taxi's to drive them to the Burrow. Dean, Sam and Harry piled into the first taxi while Herimone, Ron and Castiel slid into the lead.

Ron struggled to give directions to his house until finally Hermione, after performing a small navigation spell with her wand, took over in giving directions.

"Seems that everything is working well so far," Ron said to Castiel as Hermione sat upfront and continued to point to the left or right.

"Seems to be... which for some reason does not do anything to make me feel any less anxious," Cas muttered as he watched cars whip by.

"I know," Ron muttered as he too looked out the window, not really seeing anything beyond the glass.

Meanwhile, in the taxi behind them.

"How good does it feel to be up and about?" Harry chittered, excited to have finally escaped the confines of those hallways.

"It is amazing... I feel better than I have felt in a long time," Sam spoke happily. He was so excited to watch the sights of London fly by the window that he didn't see the look of doubt that flooded down his brothers face.

Dean was relieved beyond words that Sammy was on the mend and, for now, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. But something just wasn't right about how quickly Sammy was healing. And that aura the healers couldn't explain. Dean had been around the block enough to know that that sounded like possession. He had assured that Sam's anti-possession tattoo was intact and he knew that angels couldn't possess without permission, which Sammy would never give.

Despite these assurances, he was still uneasy. What was going? Winchesters never caught a break. He tried to put on a good front while inside, he waited with baited breath for the levy to break.

Some hours later the bewildered taxi finally pulled up to a long weedy path that led nearly a mile off the main road to the Burrow, only the roof of which could be seen from their current vantage point. Dean bustled about swiping his stolen credit cards through the ecstatic drivers machines while the other began the journey to the home. Jogging to catch up with the, Castiel stepped aside to allow Dean to slide in beside his brother. Ron walked on his other side, reaching to steady him every once in a while as he stubbornly made the trip on his own.

Half an hour later yells of joy and swarms of hugs greeted the weary travelers. As is customary for the Burrow, more bodies than should have fit poured from the rickety kitchen door. Ginny headed straight for Harry, that same pale look of relief that her mother wore shining on her now contented face. Amidst the hugs and shoulder slaps Dean recognized the rest of the Weasley brood, including Charlie which surprised and pleased him. He had gotten on well with the dragon-taming brother and looked forward to spending time with him. Silvery blonde curls glinted in the sunlight as Luna greeted her friends. Living only a few miles away, she regularly visited the family when she wasn't busy at the helm of the Quibbler.

Before long, tables and chairs had appeared in the yard followed by more food than they could ever possibly eat. Hours passed into the early morning and still they sat and ate and talked and laughed. Every so often Sam would seem to drift to sleep for just a few moments before coming to on the end of a joke or at the touch of a hand. It was only Castiel that noticed the soft blue light glow behind his eyelids once or twice - it was enough to make him uneasy and he decided to make a point of addressing Saul as soon as he had a moment.

During twilight hours when all the world is sleeping and the star blaze like torches, bodies began to drift from the gathering to beds, secret grottos, and other places throughout the Burrow- some looking for sleep and others companionship. When finally only Ron was left gently dozing in his chair, his mother magicked up the food and dishes without a sound while his father covered him with a thick quilt and the two joined hands, heading off to their own beds.

* * *

Days passed at the Burrow as they always did - full of laughter and joy, memories that would warm the hearts of those there in times when they would need it most. Mrs. Weasley was in the height of her glory being surrounded by all her children and those she had adopted as children.

Bill and Fleur came and went from their home at Shell Cottage. Since the war that had ripped the wizarding world to shreds, the two of them had stepped far from the bustle of daily life. Bill had left his work for Gringotts, instead writing from home. Fleur continued to run her mail-order robes catalog and together they enjoyed the secluded quiet life. They built a safe quiet home as they anticipated the arrival of their first child in a few short months.

Charlie was on furlough from his work- he had been reassigned from Romania to China, working with a whole new breed of dragon thanks to some illegal crossbreeding they had uncovered. It was more dangerous and he loved it all the more for that. He and Dean spent many long hours over bottles talking about their adventures.

Percy decided to continue his work at the ministry, helping to rebuild much of what he had helped destroy. It was humbling work for the brother but he took it in stride. Since Fred's death, Percy had been much less boastful and he seemed to work hard to see the humor in the world around him. It was an enjoyable change but thinking about the cause made it hurt just a little bit.

George was doing better as well. The months following the death of his brother had been the darkest of his life, which was significant seeing as how they had just fought a war. Despite his depression, he had resolved to keep the shops open, trusting much of daily operations Verity who had assumed the added responsibility without a qualm. She had joined them for several meals over their stay there. George didn't see the glances, didn't feel the gentle hands brush his arm now and then, he didn't hear the musical laugh at every word he said. He wasn't ready for that kind of love right now but it reassured Mrs. Weasley that, when he was, he had a wonderful, patient girl waiting quietly.

Ginny was easily the happiest Weasley child in the whole bunch. Harry was hers for the remainder of their stay with no battles or trials looming ahead. Freely and completely hers. It wasn't long into their stay when Harry raised his cup to make an announcement.

Not being one for public speaking, unless it followed a quidditch victory, he had stumbled over his words and looked very flushed. Finally dropping to one knee, he presented Ginny with an stunning emerald stone set in a glistening gold ring with little leaves dancing along the band. She was crying and smiling so hard hard she almost forgot to choke out a, "Yes!" before wrapping her arms around his neck.

* * *

Not being ones for pomp and circumstance, the wedding was planned for the following weekend and meant to be an intimate affair for family and friends. The fervor of the house shifted quickly to jubilant wedding planning. Dean, Sam, and Castiel felt anything but excluded as they joined in where ever strong hands and patient ears were needed.

A small altar was erected halfway between the field the family used as a quidditch pitch and the Burrow. More Weasley's began to arrive in the days to come and tents popped up all over the grounds. Clothing, cakes, and decorations covered every available surface as they prepared and planned.

Castiel took more joy in the process than any save Hermione knew. As an angel, human emotions had always been unpredictable and complicated. He never really understood them and had a hard time justifying how much they influenced the decisions of the humans. In the time he had been human he had felt so many emotions from each end of the spectrum. He would have been lying to say that he understood them now but he found comfort in them. He enjoyed the good with the bad, because the good was that much sweeter.

Even as an angel, he had loved Hermione as he had never loved another. He had always assumed that it was because of the transfer between their psyches in the little town square so long ago. But now that his angelic energy was gone, the love was still there. Deeper than before. It terrified him in ways he had never felt. He had tread softly at first, unsure of what their intimacy would do to him. However, still scared by how much he cared for this small girl and what he would do to see her happy, to protect her, he had given himself over to this intoxicating love. And hadn't looked back since.

Hermione had noticed the shift in his affections. She had always understood the differences that must exist in their relationship because of his grace and never pushed for more. But since his fall, she had watched him grapple with the feelings that come with humanity. His reluctance had initially hurt her and as she helped to sew small flowers on a chain, watching Castiel learn the skills of woodworking in building the altar, she thought back to an important night not that long ago.

* * *

It had been a week or so after arriving at the Burrow. She and Castiel had spent early every moment together. Tonight was no different. But sitting and watching the stars dance in the black velvet sky, she had been bold. Leaning up on her elbows, she had whispered, "I love you," before kissing him.

Castiel knew her feelings for him and she had assumed they were reciprocated although they had never used those words. But Castiel had paled even in the star light and pulled away. He sat silently for several moments before excusing himself, leaving her confused. Sitting on that little plaid blanket, weeping silently, she hadn't heard Dean approach.

He hadn't said anything, just seated himself on the blanket near her and pulled her head onto his shoulder. Unable to control herself, she cried hard, staining his shirt with tears. After some time, her eyes seemed empty and she just rested her swollen face on his arm.

"I saw Cas," Hermione sniffed to show that she had heard Dean start talking.

"He told me what happened," and Hermione was thankful that Dean couldn't see her blush although she was sure he felt the heat on her face through his sleeve.

"Hermione - this is all new to him. As an angel, what he felt for you was restricted to what an angel can understand. Loyalty, devotion- that they understand. But not love. What Cas felt before was definitely not something I have seen before but I don't think it was love," he spoke the last few words softly because he knew what a blow they would be. Hermione slowly raised her head to look at him after he stopped talking.

"Do you mean - you don't think he..." she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"No, no," he started to backpedal, "Hermione any fool could watch the way he looks at you, the way he acts around you and know that he loves you. Any fool but him apparently. He doesn't know what love is. He doesn't know what he is feeling. And I am sure being several thousand years old and feeling something you have never felt before is scary - especially when it is love," he looked imploringly at the young witch, hoping that she understood that he was asking for patience on behalf of his friend.

Hermione, for all her logic and intelligence, had never thought of that. She was too close to see it but now, it seemed perfectly clear. She laughed to herself, realizing how terrifyingly fast she must have been pushing him recently. Dean smiled in relief when he watched her comprehend. Together the two of them sat, laughing and talking until the sun started to dance over the edges of the world.

It was really the first time they had spent any one on one time together. Dean could see why Cas was in love with the bright, beautiful young woman. He was thankful that his friend had found someone to help him walk through this life.

She had tread softly the next few days, not pushing her words or company, giving Cas space while still being there for him. It was in the morning light as she sat watching the sun come up after a restless night that he had snuck up behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her and whispered, "I love you too."

* * *

The morning of the wedding dawned clear and warm, with the promise of strong sunshine and soft breezes playing in the daybreak. Giggling leaked from the top few floors of the Burrow as the girls had penned themselves in to prepare for the days festivities.

Below the men were left to finish last minute arrangements and wait with damp palms and nervous eyes for the ceremony in the afternoon.

Despite their desire for a small wedding of just family and friends, dozens and dozens of people had arrived. But as Harry watched each come and join in the throngs he realized they were all friends and family; he was just very blessed.

For the first time since his birth, Harry met Teddy Lupin who was nearly a year old now. He had the same serious look his father always wore and the rainbow shades in his hair told Harry that he had inherited his mother's unique abilities as a metamorphmagus. The little boy had been shy around Harry at first, clinging to his grandmothers hand. But slowly Harry had won him over and the little boy spent the rest of the day on his hip or wrapped around his ankles. Watching Harry spin him around in the sunshine, his grandmother Andromeda walked over to them.

"It is lovely to see you so well, Harry," she murmured, announcing her presence. Harry smiled as he situated the boy on his hip. Despite her resemblance to her sisters, Bellatrix and Narcissa, Andromeda was a completely different in nearly every way. And Harry still felt deep levels of pity for her; she had not only lost her husband but her daughter and son-in-law in the war and was left to raise Teddy on her own.

"He seems to have taken quite a shine to you," she said, smiling and looking at her grandson who bashfully buried his face into Harry's shirt sleeve. Harry smiled.

"Harry- there is something that I have been wanting to talk to you about. And I hope that you will forgive me if this is not a good time," she paused but Harry encouraged her to continue. "I just wanted you to know that before they… passed, Remus and Nymphadora," her mother never used the nickname Tonks, "named a godfather for Teddy." Harry felt his face flush. "Harry, they wanted you to be the godfather and I would be honored if you would consent. I don't mean to raise Teddy, in fact I don't know what I would do without him. But just to be another friend in the years to come."

Harry didn't know what to say. He looked down at the eyes of the little boy in his arms. Not more than a baby really, Harry could have sworn that he had understood every word that his grandmother had said and was looking at him heavily, waiting for the answer.

"Andromeda, I would be honored," was the best that he could choke out and her crinkled, wet eyed smile was the best reply he could have ever gotten.

* * *

It was nearly 3:00 when all the bodies were seated in chairs and the music cued up to begin the ceremony. The same officiant that had married Bill and Fleur stood at the end of a long deep green carpet that was fringed in golden flowers. Having decided that they list would be far too long to include all those that they loved and cherished, Harry and Ginny had forgone a traditional wedding party. So Harry stood alone as Ginny entered on the arm of her beaming father.

Having never attended a wedding, Sam and Dean watched with rapt attention as one of their dearest friends committed his life to another. Castiel, meanwhile, couldn't tear his eyes from Hermione, sitting a row ahead of him in resplendent soft blue chiffon that flutter and danced around her.

Following the simple ceremony there was a wonderful party that pressed on into the dark parts of the night. The only other wedding Harry had ever attended was Bill's. Whereas that wedding had reflected the finery and taste of his French wife with fancy foods and fine clothing, Harry and Ginny's exuded their down-to-Earth family centric attitude with mountains of delicious food, loud music and ever louder laughter.

As the large tent where they housed the festivities started to thin out somewhere around 1:00 am, Castiel watched Sam, sitting in the corner, gently nod off and then snap too, eyes glowing a hard blue for more than a few seconds. Settling on Castiel, Sam made his way towards him, walking in a way that was too intentional and mechanical for Sam.

"Castiel," came the brothers smooth voice but again there was enough variance in the tone for Cas to realize that Sam was not in the drivers seat.

"Solomendriel," he replied, eyeing the angel curiously. He had spoken to him only one other time, shortly after arriving at the Burrow to warn him to stay better hidden.

"They are coming," he said with solemnity. Cas looked hard at the unreadable face of the angel.

"Who is coming?" he queried.

"Those who serve the new would-be-god," Saul ground out. When Castiel showed no signs of comprehension he continued. "Metatron has taken upon himself the mantel of heaven, promising return to those that serve him. He has charged some with procuring the angel tablet in exchange for admittance to heaven. They are coming."

This was enough to set every nerve Castiel had on edge

"When? How many?"

"Only a small sect has managed to catch the trail. By my reckoning we have little more than a few hours before they get here," Saul paused, "It is imperative they not find me. Who knows what they would want with an angel housing in a Winchester." Castiel too understood the gravity of the situation. Hating himself, he rose to find Ron and figure out what to do.

* * *

Several hours later Sam, Ron, and Castiel sat around a far removed table in the nearly empty tent. Determined to keep this information guarded from any other, they eyed Dean who was dancing slowly with a thin witch who was nearly as drunk as he was.

"So they are already coming?" Ron pressed looking at Sam. It was unnerving how different his mannerism were under the control of the angel.

"They have your names and it will only be a matter of time before they find your location," he said slowly.

"Well, running is out of the question," Ron interjected and those around the table nodded. Although not demons, none of them doubt that less than noble methods might be used on Ron's family to suss out their location if they fled.

"Which means we fight," Castiel said firmly. Over the next few minutes, a rough plan was hashed out. They kept their plan within the circle, determined that none should be any the wiser.

Trudging silently up the hill to the Quidditch pitch, each was lost in their own thoughts. Stopping silent in the field they made the preparations needed for what they were about to face. Nearly half an hour later, they stood still in the field.

"You're sure this bunch are the only ones that have caught the trail?" Ron asked as the backed into shadows.

"Chasing you seems like a fool's errand so only a handful seeking to please Metatron have even taken up the trail. This bunch is the one close- the others should be easy to deter once we have dealt with them." The last line didn't sit well with anyone there.

"Alright- let's light it up," Cas said as he faded into the shadows. All followed suit save Saul, who opened the green backpack from the hospital that had been stowed in Hermione's bag ever since. Carefully lifting the angel tablet, Saul closed his eyes as a blue white light radiated off of the tablet. If they were right, this would serve as a beacon to any angel close by. Which unfortunately meant they might encounter more than the band of four that Saul said were coming regardless.

Less than an hour passed before heavy footsteps were heard coming up the hillside furthest from the Burrow. Slowly four angels emerged. One was an old man in tattered tye dye with a blank expression, another a middle aged woman with a soft face and limp brown hair, the third a young man with a scarred face and close cropped hair and the last, a young girl with jet black hair and almond eyes that couldn't have been more than thirteen.

Slowly they made their way to where the angel tablet was, not noticing Sam's figure crouched in the shadows. They were only a few yards from it when Ron appeared from nowhere, shooting flame down on the ring of oil none of them had seen. Holy fire sprang up around the quartet as they looked threateningly at those emerging from the shadows.

"What is this?" the youngest angel shouted. Sam rose to stand nearest the circle. Shock and disgust rolled across the angels trapped by fire when they saw him.

"Who let this rat out of the trap?" the young man spat and before anyone else could move, Saul extended his hand in a ring of blue flame and smote the other angel where he stood.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Ron rushed to his side, slamming his arm back down. "That was not part of the plan," he eyed the youngest angel rouge, feeling sick in the pit of his stomach at the thought of killing that little girl housing the angel. Saul made no apologies but did stay frozen, for the moment. Fear plastered across the faces of the remaining captives.

Minutes passed as Castiel and Ron took it in turn to pry as much information as they could from the angels; about Metatron and his plans and promises, about the state of the angelic host. Finally, Ron pressed, "Why did you call Saul a rat?"

The tension wrapping around the possessed Winchester was palpable but he made to move to stop the conversation, only eyeing the other menacingly.

"That… that's not Saul," the youngest angel stammered, eyes glued to the formidable figure. Ron and Cas both turned to glare at the angel in Sam, angel blades up in defense as they stepped carefully toward him.

"It doesn't matter who I am - without me your friend will die!" The mystery angel shouted.

"Who is he?" Ron barked, never taking his eyes from Sam. When none of the cowering angels replied he shouted again, "Who is he?!"

"Gadreel," the old man whispered.

This time it was Castiel who lunged, coming up behind Sam and taking him to the ground hard. Punching him in the face several times before Ron pried him off, the fury was painted across the fallen angels features.

"You… you are responsible for everything!" he shouted as Ron pulled him back. Sam's body lay still. Clearly Gadreel, whoever he was, was still weak and the combined effects of the smiting and battering had rendered him and his vessel unconscious.

"Who is he?" Ron asked, a firm grip still on Castiel.

"He… he is the angel that let Lucifer into the garden. That brought about the fall of Man! He has been imprisoned for thousands of years, paying due to the treachery he committed," Cas spat with severity and judgement.

"That is lofty judgement from the angel that imbibed the souls of Purgatory to then lay waste to Heaven," the old man in the ring of fire snapped. Paleing considerably, Castiel faltered.

"It doesn't matter. Right now he is riding shotgun in Sam so until we figure out how to evict him, we all stay kosher. Agreed?" Ron declared. Reluctantly Cas nodded as they turned back to the three remaining angels.

A blackness crept from the bottom of Ron's heart covering his very breath in a thick blanket. He knew that the angels couldn't be released; they knew too much about people that he loved. But he had never killed someone before. Monsters- yes. Disabled other humans- yes. But plunging a blade into a body that housed a living soul, even if it was host to an angel, was not something he had ever dreamed he would have to do. But with three of them he knew that Castiel could not manage this on his own

* * *

Hours later, Ron still sat atop the hill, staring at the blood now mixed with dirt on his hands. He had helped Castiel and Gadreel bury the bodies several fields away. While they had returned to the burrow, Castiel convincing Sam that he had fallen asleep under the stars, Ron stayed behind, grappling with himself.

The road so far had changed him; he could see differences in the choices he made and the way he reacted. But this was something new- something dark. There was always a sacredness about human life- imbibed in him from a young age. To cross that line and take what wasn't his left him feeling hollowed out and filthy.

Any other time there had been blood on his hands, he had been able to justify it as demon blood or monster blood. But now the blood of a thirteen year old girl seeped into the cracks of his hands and he knew that stain would never wash away.


	44. Chapter 44

Blinking in the watery early morning sun, Ron heaved himself into a sitting position. Glancing around, he realized he had fallen asleep in the Quidditch field. Dew clung to his t-shirt and his face, making him feel ever more unclean.

As he stood, the memories of the night before filled him from the bottom up. He was so distracted in his own thoughts, he didn't hear the footsteps coming up the hill until Harry's black, untidy hair ambled into sight. Ron didn't see another way out so he steeled himself, putting on the blankest face he could muster.

"Hey, man, morning. Just out… running," Ron finished lamely, rolling his eyes. Harry had the courtesy not to smile.

"I got a little worried when you didn't instantly apparate as your mom cooked breakfast and Cas said the two of you came up here last night," Harry leveled a hard glance at Ron, who faltered.

"Yeah…"

"Yeah and, ya know, being pretty new at this human thing, man is he a horrible liar. Like really, really bad," Harry chuckled as he nudged the grass with his shoes. Ron swallowed hard. "So Gadreel huh?"

Thinking hard, Ron looked at Harry, trying to decide how much he already knew. But he faltered when he looked into the eyes of his best friend. Deep down he expected to see anger, judgment. But he didn't; there was only compassion and caring. After all, Harry had danced with darkness inside himself.

Ron cleared his throat and started speaking. His voice caught despite himself several times but he kept talking, explaining everything. As he sat on the dewy grass, sun flicking up the edges of hill, Harry ambled toward his friend and sank down beside him, just listening.

Eventually Ron ran out of words and for a long time, neither of them spoke. Ron's head hung low over the grass and unbidden, small salty tears dotted the wet grass between his knees. Harry sat, squinting into the distance watching daylight make the forests shimmer and glint.

"Ron, I… it wasn't your fault," was all he could think to say. Ron wished it helped; but it didn't.

"It was though. All of it. If Cas and I hadn't…"

"They would have come anyways. They weren't after Gadreel… they were after the angel tablet. If Gadreel hadn't been here, we would probably be…" this time Harry couldn't finish, his mind filled with the sleeping image of his young, new wife. "So thank you," he clasped Ron on the shoulder.

Ron looked at Harry's hand and felt a fist clench his gut. He had learned so much from the brothers; admittedly a lot he probably didn't want to know. But he was still learning. This must be how they felt all the time.

When Ron and Harry returned to the Burrow, everyone was on the tail end of another delicious breakfast. Ron noticed that Cas and Hermione were seated far from Dean, who was talking and laughing with Charlie and Sam. Hermione looked like she was trying hard not to be sick and Cas kept his eyes on his shoes. Apparently Ron wasn't the only one having a hard time dealing with this.

Ginny looked questioningly at Harry as he sat down. He shook his head slowly and she squeezed his hand hard as he sat down near her, not reaching for any food.

* * *

Not long after the wedding, the friends once again parted ways. Harry and Ron remained in England. Harry was slowly succumbing to marital bliss with his young bride, enjoying their time and the peace in the days they had. Ron had put on a strong face since that night on the hill but those closest to him could tell that he was closing off to them and none save Castiel knew why. Even then, Castiel only imagined half of it.

Dean, Sam, Castiel and Hermione returned to the bunker not long afterwards. Dean and Sam had started getting strange calls from other hunters about rogue batches of angels. As much as they wanted to install themselves into the peaceful life here at the Burrow they could no longer ignore the looming challenge before them; Metatron.

He had cast the angels from heaven and, from all reports, they were not handling it all that well. They had started to form factions, some serving Metatron, some serving others that had risen to positions of leadership. It is so in the nature of an angel to take orders and follow a bigger personality that they didn't even seem to be questioning the tasks their leaders assigned them. The brothers had calls about battles between gangs of angels, forced possessions that ended catastrophically and other horrible deeds being perpetrated at the hands of the wayward angels.

Saving people, hunting things… the family business.

As life in the bunker fell back into a familiar cadence, Castiel grew increasingly nervous, trying to work out how to expel Gadreel. Hopefully without Dean or Sam finding out. And hopefully keeping Sam alive. Past experience played through his mind; his assent to power in heaven, breaking the wall in Sam's mind, his time in Purgatory. Each and every time he had gone it alone because he felt he knew better and it had ended horribly. Each and every time, Dean and Sam had forgiven him. Three days into research and playing as hunter headquarters, Castiels' resolve broke and he sought out the eldest Winchester first.

Finding him hunkered over a laptop, several books laying opened on the table around him, Castiel seated himself across from Dean. It took a few minutes for Dean to glance up and notice that the silent man was watching him, waiting.

"What's up, Cas?" he asked, eyes still skimming the book in front of him.

"Dean, I need to talk to you… about Sam," this got Dean's attention and he locked his eyes on those of his friend. Slowly he leaned back in his wooden seat, placing the book he was reading on the tabletop in front of him. It was then that he noticed the nervously flicker of the angels eyes.

"Yeah man, what about Sam?" he asked slowly.

"Dean, please understand that we only ever wanted to help…" Cas quietly, simply explained all that had happened since St. Mungos, being sure to place as much blame on himself as he could to absolve Ron in Dean's eyes.

After he finished talking, Dean sat for a long heavy moment, rolling through the troves of information he had been given. His initial reaction of course was anger. Pure, undiluted, untargeted rage rolled through him from top to bottom flushing his face and making him feel sick. But he swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from exploding. A small jaded piece of him kept flaring caution to not tick off the angel sleeping inside his brother. In that moment, he recalled a conversation he had had with Hermione about the man sitting in front of him- how new everything was for him and how terrifying it must be. For all the Cas had experienced in his long life, Dean still saw him as a little brother in desperate need of protecting.

The same memories that had pushed Cas to sit and confess his sins in front of Dean played in the brothers mind. And the rage abated; not entirely but enough for him to realize that the road to hell is paved with good intentions and it is a road that he himself had often traveled.

Damn, he must be growing up.

"Cas, man, what the hell were you two thinking?" he finally hissed through pursed lips. Castiel paled, awaiting the wrath he knew Dean was capable of.

"We weren't thinking. We were scared and it seemed like the only way of saving him. But now… now…" and Castiels' voice broke as he dropped his eyes, ashamed. Dean stood up, rubbing his hands through his hair and putting them on his hips.

"At least you told me before this thing blew up in our face," he sighed. Castiel seemed to melt into the chair where he sat and he let out all the breath he had been holding, expecting a much fiercer attack.

"So what are we going to do?" Dean started.

* * *

"Again I want this on record that I think this is a HORRIBLE idea," Hermione nagged as the walked through the hallways of the bunker. Cas shot her a scathing look which she chose to ignore.

"I can't think of anyone that knows more about unwanted possession and Sam is on a supply run for about an hour so this better be quick," Dean explained as they walked into the ominously yellow room and he jerked back the wire shelves at the back, revealing a very bedraggled looking Crowley.

Since their return from the Burrow, they had checked in on him once, to be sure he was still there and then left him in the darkness alone. Blinking as if the dim light from the small room was blinding, Crowley covered his face with his hands, coughing several times.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he tried to pour on the thick oily accent but his voice came out raspy and thin from disuse.

"Possession- angelic possession, what can you tell us?" Dean growled as he marched arms crossed into the sickly smelling room. Crowley smiled cruelly, realizing his position of power.

"Quite a bit - what are you willing to pay for this lovely tidbit of information is the better question?" he sighed, putting his best bored persona. Now it was Dean's turn to smile.

"Not a damn thing."

* * *

Crowley was screaming, covered in holy water and the steam that rolled off his suffering vessel.

"Listen, I told you. Angels only possess with permission. If at any time that permission is revoked, the angel gets the boot," he huffed.

Castiel glared hard at the demon.

"Yes, I know that," he spat, "But if we tell Sam, Gadreel could kill him before exiting the body. How do we avoid that?" When the little man refused to reply, Castiel doused him from the flask again as he walked back towards his friends.

"This isn't working," he said, sighing hard.

"I know but what else do we do?" Dean asked. Again none of them had a reply. Rubbing rough hands over his face, Dean checked his watch.

"Whoa, Sammy's been gone almost two hours. That aint' right," and on the last phrase he flipped his phone out and dialed up his brother.

" _Hello, Dean."_ Just from the tone of his brother, Dean knew something was wrong.

"Hey, Sammy, man you've been gone like two hours? Everything alright?"

" _Everything is fine. I heard the screaming when I returned from the store. Seems that you think I have overstayed my welcome as your brothers guest."_

The hairs on the back of Dean's neck rose and his palms started to sweat.

"Listen, just bring my brother back here and we can work something out."

" _I'm sorry but I've had a better offer."_

"Listen to me you son of a bitch…" but the tone on the other end of the receiver told him that there was no one there. Slamming his phone and fist on the small table he sat on, Dean glared at the demon sitting across from him.

* * *

Ron sat with his head bent over the bar counter, nursing the small empty glass in his hand, debating on asking for another when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Hermione looking at him with more pity than he could bear. Shrugging her hand off, he turned back around, saying nothing.

"Ron… what happened?" the waver in her voice set his teeth on edge. Again, he said nothing.

"Ron, please. Sam… he… the angel wasn't who he said he was," when Ron still didn't turn around, it confirmed her fears.

"Ron, please, Dean could really use you right now," she said softly, eliciting a chuckle for Ron.

"Me… He doesn't need me. He wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me. I'm the last thing he needs," Ron muttered darkly, tapping the empty glass on the bar, signaling for another splash.

"Ron please…" the wobble in her voice was dangerously close to cracking.

"Hermione - just go. I'm not the man you need," he felt her hand close on his shoulder again. Drunkenly, he swiped at her and nearly lost his balance off the stool.

"I said GO!" When he turned around, she was gone.

* * *

"Ron's busy," she said, not looking up from the coffee she was preparing. Castiel noticed her hand was shaking ever so slightly but she seemed to be trying very hard to hide it, so he let it go.

"Really?" Dean said, surprise evident on his face. "Great," he finished sarcastically.

"What are we going to do?" she said, trying to change the subject.

"Well, we can assume the "better offer" was probably from Metatron."

"Or another angelic warlord," Hermione interrupted.

"Doubtful. Gadreel may be contemptible but he isn't stupid. He has watched the coming and goings of heaven long enough," Castiel chimed in.

"Okay, so Metatron," Hermione sighed.

"I've got every eye on pivot for signs of Sammy anywhere, assuming Gadreel hasn't shucked his meat suit," Dean mumbled.

"He wouldn't- Sam is a powerful, valuable vessel. He won't find another as strong," Cas said, trying to be comforting. Dean found it anything but.

"So we just… wait?" Hermione asked.

"He ditched his phone. He still has the Enochian angel block on his ribs. And Gadreel is blocking all forms of magical tracking. So yeah, we wait," Dean grimaced, sipping from the mug in his hand.

"Dean, I know that you don't want to consider it but Crowley…" Castiel started.

"Not yet. I'm not that desperate yet," he leveled a hard glance at his friends, who nodded and sighed.

"So we wait," he said and they drank their coffee in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

Harry walked into the dirty, seedy little bar, eyes scanning for the shock of red hair that he was looking for. His eyes stopped at the bar where he saw his friend face down on the bar, drooling on the wood, clutching his half empty glass.

Hermione had called him. It wasn't the first time in the last few weeks. He had told her not to worry, it wasn't a problem, it was a one time thing. But it caught Harry's attention. Was it a one time thing? Directing his attention from his apple-pie life Harry noticed that most nights, Ron would excuse himself from whatever gathering they might be at, alone. Eventually he stopped coming to dinners or answering owls. This was third time that a barkeeper had called him to come pick Ron up, since he was refusing to leave.

Harry was worried but he didn't want to bother his friends; apparently they were neck deep in their own catastrophe.

Slowly he made his way towards Ron, tentatively reaching his hand out to rouse him. A few shakes in, Ron came to whipping around with a blade in his hand. Blinking hard, he let his arm relax when he recognized Harry, who was more alarmed than before.

"Harry. What is the…"

"Ron, time to go. Come on," he shoved his shoulder under his friend's arm, hoisting him off the stool. Nodding to the disgruntled barman, he pulled Ron from the bar. Ron, who was concentrating very hard on not being sick, didn't fight. Once in the daylight, the two disappeared with a crack and snap.

Ron leaned into the garden, vomiting violently after the apparation. Ginny came stepping from the door of tiny cottage she shared with Harry, looking sadly at her big brother.

"Somethings wrong. He's never been like this. I'm really worried - I don't know how much longer we can keep this from mum," she whispered to Harry as Ron continued to heave, eyes streaming into the flowerbed. Finally, he straightened, wobbling dangerously. He staggered towards Harry and Ginny smiling stupidly.

"Thanks, Arry. Mind if I sleep off on da couch?" he slurred. Harry nodded smiling. As Ron ambled into the house, Harry looked carefully at his wife.

"We'll talk to him when he's sober. Besides, he's not going to remember any of this anyways," Harry mumbled, shaking his head.

* * *

"Ow! Ow! OWW!" Hermione howled as the needle jiggled in the gloved hand of the artist. Little water drops squeezed out of the sides of her eyes. "I hate this. I hate this," she repeated to herself softly over and over. A tall woman with a blank face sat bent over her back, carving the design from the little paper beside her on the pale skin of Hermione's shoulder.

In the chair next to her, Castiel sat with his shirt pulled up as another woman with full, brown eyes tattooed the same symbol onto the side of his stomach. His eyes were fixed pointedly on the ceiling above him, jaw clenched hard. Dean, meanwhile, stood leaning on the counter, chuckling to himself.

"Halfway there, hun," he said, sitting down in the chair across from Hermione. She glared at him hotly and he felt a little ashamed. Grabbing her hand, an apology was written across his face. She smiled which quickly turn into a grimace and she gripped his hand hard, as the whir of the tattoo gun droned on.

Walking from the little parlor, Hermione winced as the air touched her abused skin. Each shoulder was red and bothered, black ink glistening in the sunlight. Upon her right shoulder was a flaming star while her left shoulder bore slashes and symbols that matched those on Castiel's stomach. He too winced as the cotton shirt whispered across his abdomen. Tucked closer to his waistband below the Enochian was the same star that Dean, and now Hermione, bore.

"That was not pleasant," she moaned. Dean smiled again but he had the good sense to keep his eyes forward.

"I know but it was needed. Rolling with us, especially now that Cas is general stock. Now you are smoke proof and off angel radar," he said smiling as he got into the car. Hermione moved to slide into the front seat, while Cas moved to sit in the back. Seemingly from nowhere, two men with brutish faces appeared, wrapping thick arms around Cas and Hermione, yanking them back from the car as another man stepped forward.

"Hey! Hey!" Dean yelled, gun already in hand and resting across the hood of the Impala.

"Dean Winchester. Do you really think that gun is going to make a difference?" The shorter, oily man facing him purred as he blinked and his eyes filled with black nothingness.

Hermione and Cas struggled against the men holding them to no avail as their eyes too filled with inky black pools. Deans eyes flicked between the faces he was watching, trying to come up with a plan in his mind quickly.

"Now listen carefully, because I do not like repeating myself. There is a new player in hell and she sends her regards," without asking Dean knew who he was talking about and the unwelcome image of the auburn haired woman flickered into his mind. "She is looking for her predecessor, tying up loose ends as it were. Our intel says his last known location… was with you." The demon leveled brown eyes that were not his at Dean.

"Listen, I don't know what…"

"Save it Winchester. I'm not here for excuses. We are taking our leverage," he glanced back at the captives. "When you're ready for a trade, you let us know. Until then, see you around." Hands wrapped around their mouths to muffle their screams, the demons pulled them into a black car that seemed to stream up out of nowhere. At a loss for what to do, Dean watched the car pull away into traffic carrying his friends.

* * *

Ron lay bleary eyed on the couch. He had woken several minutes ago but decided not to move, head pounding as he tried to figure out how he had ended up on Harry's couch again. Suddenly he heard voices trickle in from the kitchen. They clearly thought he was still passed out as they didn't try to hide their words.

"Harry, this is ridiculous. It's the third time in two weeks," Ginny complained.

"Gin, I know. I know. But what am I supposed to do? He won't talk to me. He won't talk to anyone. He flat bailed on Dean when Hermione asked. Something's wrong but he isn't talking about it," Harry replied.

"Well we need to figure this out because I am not going to watch him pickle himself," she sighed.

Ron felt sicker for an entirely different reason. Suddenly his back pocket started to get warm. It quickly went from warm to incredibly hot, forcing him to shift his weight and pull out the wallet he carried in his back pocket. Clearly outlined against the leather, he could see the coin glowing red. The coin that paired with the one Hermione had given Dean so long ago, the coin that she had pressed into his hand before she had left with Castiel. Smoke started to leak from the edges of the wallet and Ron rolled his eyes. Maybe it was time to face the music.

A loud crack echoed from the living room. Harry ran in and stared at the empty couch. Feet behind him, Ginny looked with concern over her husband's shoulder.

"Damn!" Harry growled.

* * *

 _CRACK. CRASH._

Dean raced into the kitchen just in time to see Ron fall over a chair, sending it smashing into the table. He quickly stowed the lighter and coin in his hand.

"Ron, man, am I glad to… What the…" his look of relief changed to confusion as Ron staggered to his feet, pulling hard on the counter for support.

"Dean!" he slurred.

"Are… are you drunk?" Dean snapped.

"Nah," his eyes focused and unfocused several times. "I don't think I am. Helluva hangover though," he muttered as he finally righted himself and smiled at the eldest Winchester.

"Are you friggin kidding me?!" Dean yelled, causing Ron to wince. "I am up against the ropes here with no one left in my corner and the back up I call in is _hung over_?" he stormed toward Ron who cowered despite himself. As Dean got closer, he stopped dead in his tracks. From here he could see through the liquor in Ron's eyes; he could see the shame and pain and the desire to burn out every painful memory with booze. It was almost like looking in a mirror.

Tears started to pool in the corner of Ron's eyes and he hung his head to hide them. Dean's anger abated and his fervor broke. During the year he had spent with Lisa and Ben there had been more than one time he had watched Ben screw up and always, he had been there for him. As his father had been in his own way. It hit Dean that Ron couldn't be more than a few years old than Ben and right now he desperately needed someone there for him. And Dean understood what he was going through better than anyone.

Closing the gap between them, he pulled Ron in, gripping his shoulders and letting him crunch his face into Dean's shoulders. A few minutes passed before Ron stopped silently shaking and took a step back, rubbing his face hard with the heels of his hands.

"Dean… I am so sorry… for everything," he said thickly.

Putting a firm hand on his shoulder, he waited for Ron to look up at him. "Man, this is part of life. We fall, we get back up. No shame in needing a hand getting off the ground. I have two large coffees and two ears no waiting; but we have a much bigger problem right now…" Dean launched into the quick and dirty summation of everything they had been through over the last few weeks finishing with the events of the afternoon.

Ron's eyes widened when he learned that Cas and Hermione had been kidnapped.

"So what's the plan?" he asked.

"Well, I'm pretty desperate now," Dean growled and they turned to head deeper into the bunker. Stopping at the door of the yellow room, Ron looked a little doubtful. Dean nodded grimly back and twisted the handle of the door. Together they yanked back the shelving and flicked the lights on over the King of Hell.

"Crowley listen…" and for the second time that afternoon Dean explained the events that occurred outside the tattoo parlor. He added on the details of the plan that had been forming in his mind over the last few hours. Crowley listened with intent interest. He could practically taste his chance for escape. It would be tricky but he felt he could manage it if he played his cards very carefully.

* * *

Cas and Hermione stayed quiet during the car ride, never taking their eyes of the demons sitting the back of the long black limousine with them. Not long after leaving the tattoo parlor, the car stopped and the henchmen drug them roughly from the car. Blinking in the sunlight, they saw that they were standing in front of a huge, run down old warehouse. Despite the warm sunshine, an evil, cold feeling seemed to pour from the building. The two captives looked at one another, only guessing at the horrors inside.

Their handlers continued to drag them through the weeds and rocks and in through a side door. After twisting and turning through shadowy, dimly lit hallways they were shoved through a rickety metal door into a room where flickering, harsh lights barely lit the corners. Just discernible on the other end of the room was the outline of a woman who had her back to them. Her hair was piled high on her head and she was clad in tight fitting clothing and high heeled boots. The demons shoved Castiel and Hermione in front of them and snapped the door shut, waiting in the hallway.

"Well, hello," a silky, evil voice poured from the woman at the end of the hallway. Hermione squinted hard, recognition coming slowly as the woman turned and stalked toward them, like a cat preparing to devour a helpless rodent.

"Josie?" she asked, remembering the name of the woman in the file. Manic, disturbing laughter poured from the mouth of the other woman.

"Not in a very long time," her teeth were visible in the eerie light.

"Abaddon," Castiel said softly causing the demon's head to snap toward him.

"Castiel- quite a difference now that you're _plucked_. Tell me, how does it feel to know you're going to watch your little beloved here die and there isn't a thing that you can do?" she said menacingly as she stepped uncomfortably close to the man. Just then a series of screams and explosions ricocheted from somewhere distant in the structure. Abaddon rolled her eyes.

"If you want something done right…" she muttered. As she stalked past them, her hand, curled into a claw, flicked backwards.

"Sit," Castiel and Hermione slammed down to the ground.

"Stay," and they slid back until they smashed into a wall, hard. Restrained by her demonic tethering, they sat bound listening as the screams and crashes grew closer.

* * *

"This… this is your plan!" Crowley practically shrieked. He sat shackled and chained next to Ron in the back of the Impala. "Scry for the wayward lambs and then charge into the lions den, guns blazing," he choked.

"Yep," Dean quipped.

"Daft… you're absolutely ridiculous. You're gonna get yourself killed. You're gonna…" Ron gave a sharp yank on the chains binding the demon. He got the message and snapped his jaw shut.

"Listen, you just do what we say. When we get there, you and Ron will come through back, I waltz through the front. And we will meet in the middle," Dean said sounding much more confident than he felt. To Ron's credit, he remained silent.

The muscle car pulled to a stop a few blocks from the location they had determined through Ron's scrying. Shuffling out of the car, they gathered at the trunk. Dean grabbed handfuls of weapons, stowing several on his bodies and handing others to Ron for him to stash around his person. Flipping an angel blade through the air, Dean palmed the hilt and nodded as he thrust the Kurd blade into Ron's fist.

"Stay sharp, move fast," he said sternly. Nodding, he headed off towards the front entrance of the abandon factory. Ron and Crowley waited near the Impala - their plan was to apparate to the rear entrance in a few minutes time.

"You do realize that he's going to get himself killed," Crowley mused. "Wouldn't be the first time." Ron glanced at the demon before looking pointedly away, deciding to ignore him. "I mean, it's not like demons have a personal vendetta against a Winchester or anything." Ron squirmed a little. "And he is so used to having Sam there to back him- now he is completely alone. Who knows how fast they'll get the jump on him."

"Shut! Up!" Ron growled and he jerked the chain holding Crowley's hands.

"Listen, I know you think that I am a soulless uncaring monster, which I am… But since that human blood binge I have been able to understand human emotion a little more. Dean is scared, and he will never admit it. You could be there for him - his back up. Drop me off at the back - I mean I can't smoke out," he held his shackled hands up innocently. "I can still move in and finish out the rest of the plan without Dean ending up in a body bag." Crowley laid the guilt on thickly, pulling at threads of affection that he knew connected the two.

Ron hesitated, obviously doubting anything from the mouth of the monster. He, however, couldn't ignore the gnawing pit of doubt that bubbled in his stomach. The thought of something _else_ happening to Dean because of him was almost too much. So he made a decision.

In a snap, Crowley and Ron appeared at the rear exit of building. Crowley held out his hands, expecting Ron to unshackle him so that he could move forward as back up into the structure.

"Not a chance," Ron mumbled chuckling at the shocked look on Crowley's face.

"But how… if Abaddon…" he stammered.

"That is not my problem. You better hope we find you before she does. Now get!" And with that Ron stuffed him through the door, into the dark hallway and magically sealed it behind him, making a quick flight much more challenging. Just for fun, he set off a series of faux explosions outside Crowley's door - that's sure to draw off some of the heat from Dean. Taking a deep breath, the foyer in the very back of the factory was empty once more.

Seconds later Ron emerged just at the edge of the small parking lot in the front of the building. Walking softly, his head was on pivot looking for a sign of Dean. From the far right he watched the crouching hunter creep into the open door just near the front entry way. Hustling after him, Ron didn't see the demon emerging from the doors in time. Yelling savagely, he charged toward Ron who flung his wand up protectively just in time. Winging the demon on the shoulder, he rolled through the air before crashing into the cement. Rising slowly, he came after Ron again.

Dean had turned quickly when the demon first shouted. Seeing Ron twisting in a dodge, he slammed back through the door he had just crept through, firing the shotgun in his hand at the monsters back. Arching in response to the burning sensation of the rock salt the demon froze long enough for Ron to hurtled the knife in his hand end over end, sinking it straight into the gut of the demon.

Light sparked from the face of the vessel before it blinked out and the demon crumpled. Running towards the corpse, Ron yanked the hilt of the knife from the body, keeping his eyes averted.

"Ron, what the hell?" Dean barked.

"I couldn't let you go in there without back-up," he said.

"Crowley?"

"I shoved him in the back door and set off flares. I'm sure he has his hands full." Dean didn't look entirely convinced but he knew they didn't have time for that. Twisting around just in time to see three more flunkies bust through the front, Dean squared his feet as Ron moved up beside him.

"You good?" Dean asked.

"As I'll ever be," Ron breathed.

* * *

Minutes passed as Castiel and Hermione sat latched to the cement, listening hard for any familiar sounds. There were so many explosions coming from so many directions it was impossible to tell who was coming from where. Hoping against hope, they waited to see which colors burst through the door. Imagine their surprise when Sam silently and slowly crept through the door, closing it softly behind him.

The stoic mechanical way he carried himself told them quickly that Gadreel was in the driver's seat. He paused to take in the sights around him. Carefully he walked toward Hermione. Standing a few feet away, he slowly wiped his hand through the air like he was cleaning an invisible window. She felt the pressure that bound her melt away. Struggling quickly to her feet, she stared at Sam like a cornered dog. Despite her trepidation, the hope she carried eternal won out.

"Thank you," she said softly. He nodded softly.

"Of course," came the smooth cadence of Sam's voice under the angels' measured control. She ran to Castiel's side dropping to her knees. Gadreel turned to look at them and she could have sworn regret was ghosting across his face.

"Please…" she said softly.

"I'm sorry," he replied with furrowed brows. "I require his… help," the slow way he said it made Hermione shudder. "In finding the angel tablet."

Hermione looked hard at Castiel. His eyes were screaming refusal even though the rest of his body was stone still. She looked long and hard at his frozen face before making up her mind. Reaching into her jacket, she slipped her hand into the little purse she always carried with her. Her arm disappeared up to her shoulder as she pawed for the spelled box hidden in its depths. Flicking it open, she ran her fingers across the stones inside, looking for the one unbroken. Clutching it carefully, she pulled the tablet from the darkness, wresting it from the mouth of the fabric, holding it to her body looking hard at the angel.

"Let him go," again Gadreel smoothed his hand through the air and Castiel crumpled,

"Hermione… no…" he breathed, clearly exhausted from fighting the bindings. She looked apologetically at him before rising to her feet and moving slowly towards the man standing in the middle of the room. Extending the tablet face down with both hands wrapped around the edges, Gadreel reached his hand to grasp the tablet from the young witch. In one fluid motion, Hermione flicked the cuffs she'd held concealed under the tablet around the side and clanked them over his wrist before smashing her hand against the surface of the tablet.

Time slowed to nothing as Castiel watched the rise and fall of her chest beat in time with the ricochet of power that flared around her eyes. Glowing blue-white light rocketed from the top of the stone like a gunshot, blasting Gadreel squarely in the chest and knocking him into the opposite wall. He slide down, landing in an unconscious pile on the floor. Moments later, Hermione followed suit melting to the floor, eyes fluttering.

"Hermione. Hermione!" Castiel flung himself forward, skidding to land beside her, pulling her up into his lap, running his hands over her face. She was still breathing but it was ragged. Seconds later Dean and Ron, splattered in blood and breathing hard burst through the door. Eyes struggling to take in the sight of an unconscious Sam and Hermione, they walked carefully into the room.

"We gotta go," Ron snapped, looking down the eerily empty hallway.

"Right," Dean hustled forward, scooping up the body of his brother. As he staggered to stand, Ron joined him, lifting the other side of the massive man. Castiel lifted the slight witch easily and ran to stand near his friends.

"Abaddon is here," Castiel spat.

"I'll bet there are some angel flunkies flitting around too," Dean said, eyeing his brothers lolling head.

"Can you apparate us out?" Castiel asked, eyes on Ron.

"I think so," he grumbled, extending his hand. As Castiel reached forward the door creaked open and small, bustling figure scurried in.

"Go! Go! Go!" Crowley whimpered as he latched on to the hem of Dean's jacket.

"Seriously?" Dean spat.

"Abaddon in one corner, angel posse in another. This is not a fight I can win. Better captive than dead! GO!" the fallen king panted. As if on cue, the door exploded off its hinges, skittering across the floor casting sparks everywhere. Outlined in the smoke wafting through the halls was a lone figure. But they never figured out who because Ron heaved and with a crack and snap the room was empty.


	45. Chapter 45

Smoke and dust tailing them from the apparation settled around the pile on the kitchen floor. Heavy breathing and rustled movements broke the silence. Shaking his head experimentally, Dean hurried to his feet, hauling Sam with him as he did. Without a word, he hitched his arms underneath his unconscious brother and hauled him from the room. Ron laid breathing hard, paler than normal, struggling to recover from the strain of apparating so many. Crowley was sitting far too close to an unconscious Hermione and a frantic Castiel.

"No, no, no, no. Please. Please," Castiel murmured, running his hands over her forehead, smoothing her damp hair away from the hot skin. Tears puddled in the corners of his eyes. Pulling her onto his lap, he rocked her slowly whispering desperate pleas over and over.

Crowley watched them as his own breathing evened. He hated himself deeply and as he watched Castiel weep over her body, his heart was touched and it made him want to rip it out. He crawled further from the scene, hunching down in the corner like a wounded animal.

Cas struggled to his feet, lifting his little witch into his arms. Carrying her, he ran towards the room they used as a makeshift hospital. Laying her carefully on the stainless steel table in the middle of the room, he set about using his extensive knowledge of medicinal herbology. He scooped and spread hastily prepared powders and tinctures into her mouth and onto her skin, trying everything he could think of to help her. Slowly her breathing evened but she remained warm… too warm.

Minutes, hours, Castiel didn't know how much time had passed before he heard footsteps behind him. Dean looked exhausted and sweaty while Ron was staggering behind him, leaning heavily on the wall and trying hard to not be sick. Pausing in his efforts, Castiel faced them breathing hard.

"She's burning up and I...I can't…" he couldn't finish.

"What happened?" Ron asked, a terrified look on his face.

"She- she cuffed Gadreel and- and pressed on the angel tablet and this- this white light shot him in the chest and she- she," he was having a hard time holding back the sobs building up in his throat. Dean pressed his hand the forehead of the tiny woman. Heaving a deep sigh he stomped to the door, whipped around the corner and clutched the chains binding Crowley. Jerking him stumbling into the room, he pushed the demon towards the table. Dean glared at him from underneath furrowed brows.

"What's wrong?" he thundered. Crowley made no show of resisting, looking carefully at her throat. Meanwhile, Castiel stared so hard at the demon that, had he still had grace, blue sparks would have been circling him.

"She's got some shards of… grace… attached to her soul? Castiel… it's yours. It's burning her up," the demon twisted his head to stare at the bewildered man.

"How… I…"

Without a word, Dean stomped toward the tall cabinet tucked into the corner. Jerking the metal door open, he pushed things around on the shelf, sending bottles and boxes crashing toward the floor. Finally, he pulled a long, thin wooden case from the back of a shelf. He walked over, set it on the table and opened it to reveal a huge, lethal looking syringe with some extra levers and vials attached.

"I found this when researching ways to hunt down Sammy. It is supposed to extract an angel's grace without killing the vessel," he finished lamely, holding up the massive needle. Castiel looked unsure as the glint of the tip caught the light. In the same breath, Hermione's body convulsed and her eyes started to fluttered and roll, a thin line of blood running from the corner of her mouth. Gritting his teeth, he reached across her body and slowly pulled the instrument from Dean's hands.

Gripping one hand with the other to steady the shaking, he swallowed hard before carefully sinking the needle into the soft, pale skin of her neck. His world stopped. Once the metal pierced the pulsing muscle, the convulsions stopped. Her beautiful brown eyes, rimmed in white fire, shot open and her mouth ripped wide in a soul shattering scream. But he didn't relent. White, glowing fire filled the barrel and still he pulled. As the vial filled, she continued to scream. Finally, droplets of scarlet pooled in the bottom of the cylinder and Castiel yanked the needle out. Her eyes fluttered shut as the white light dimmed to darkness and her scream faded as she passed out. Dean quickly pressed a clean cloth over the wound to clot the dark flow pouring from the wound. Her breathing was smooth, slow and the red hot flush of her skin was starting to pale. Each man in the room let out a sigh of relief. Even Crowley, although he tried to hide it.

* * *

It was hours before she awoke, nestled in the warm blankets of the familiar bed she called her own in the Men of Letters bunker. She felt like a wrung out sponge; dry, stiff, and completely empty. A cold spike seemed to run from her neck straight down to her toes. It was like something was missing, like there were icy swathes of nothingness that clung to her insides.

Eventually she gathered enough strength to sit up and her head swam. From the shadows in the corner, Castiel sprang up, rushing to her side. His face was taut and red from worry and sorrow. Speckles of hope kindled in his eyes when he saw her rouse.

"Hey… hey… easy," he murmured as he watched vertigo spread across her face. She clung to his arm for support as she slowly scooted back, resting against the cold wall behind her, grateful for the cool brick on her head.

"What happened? The - the last thing I remember is slamming those cuffs on Gadreel. Then… just this white light," she stuttered, trying to fill in the voids of her memory. Castiel began to explain as best he could what had happened in the last few hours.

* * *

Dean and Ron sat alone in the clean, well lit kitchen, sipping steaming cups of black coffee. Each had showered, trying to scrub off the last few hours. In clean clothes with everyone under one roof, they felt more peaceful than they had in a long time despite the troubles still hanging over their heads. Silent minutes passed as neither of them spoke. Dean, while mulling over the next steps in his mind, was quietly waiting for Ron to speak. Ron, meanwhile, felt the weight of the silence pressing down upon him.

Rubbing his face, he finally steeled himself and took a final long swig of the cooling coffee.

"Dean… thanks. For pulling me back together. I guess the last few months finally caught up with me," he wished his voice had come out more evenly. Dean took a long drink before he replied

"I can imagine. Listen- I'm not mad about the Gadreel business. Mind; I was but it's on the up now. What I don't understand is you. I have done things I wish I could forget- that I regret. And I ain't innocent- I drown 'em too. But it doesn't seem like lying to me about Sam is enough for all this," Dean looked hard into the eyes of the young man as she spoke.

Ron's eyes flicked from Dean's face to his own hands. He ground them together, like he was trying to scrape the skin off. They were so hot he realized he had been doing it the whole time Dean had been talking. Gritting his teeth he forced them to be still. Suddenly, there were droplets on his wrist and he realized his eyes were wet. Rubbing them hastily, he fixed his gaze on a tile with a chipped corner as he started to speak.

"At… at Harry's wedding Gadreel told us that some angels working for Metatron had tracked us down. They were coming. So Castiel and I made plans to take care of them. I was fine- it was another job," he used the vernacular he had picked up from the brothers, "But then they walked up and one was… was a little girl, Dean," unable to stop them, fat tears slid down his cheeks as his face scrunched but he continued. "Twelve, maybe 13. And… and…" he sucked in sharp breaths, unable to continue, squeezing his eyes shut hard, feeling the flush come up his face.

Dean understood. There was nothing he could do or say that would make this better or take this pain away. He blamed himself. Working with the Winchesters had pulled Ron into the life- it was only a matter of time before it happened; before he'd learned the oldest rule.

You can't save everyone.

"Ron. I'm sorry," there was nothing else to say.

They were on their third cups of coffee when Castiel and Hermione ambled into the kitchen. She appeared to be nearly back to normal, except for the hollow look around her eyes. Smiling they scooted up the table, accepting white mugs pouring steam. Castiel scooped the sugar off the counter, shaking it into Hermione's cup as she smiled.

"You look like you're feeling better," Dean said smiling, rubbing her forearm. She grasped his calloused hand, smiling.

"Much. Thanks. So Cas tells me we have company," she started.

"It can wait," Dean retorted.

"No… it really can't," she said firmly. After a long heavy moment, Ron broke the silence, "Okay, so where do we start?"

For the next few hours, they talked. About Gadreel and Sam. About Metatron. About the angels. About Abaddon. About Crowley. It seemed nearly impossible- all the things that were against them. What were their next moves? Where did they even start? Slowly they started to prioritize what needed done and what they could actually do. In the end they all agreed on the same starting point.

 _They needed to get Sam back._

Not seeing other options, they solemnly trooped down to a deep room in the bunker. Opening the worn wooden door, they entered the small, dim room. Chained to the sink, surrounded by a hastily drawn Devil's trap sat Crowley.

* * *

Crowley muttered to himself as Castiel and Ron shuffled him down the hallway. The demon was clutching a stained and battered looking case like it was a foul smelling, heavy object. As the two came upon a door, Cas scooted up beside Crowley and opened it, forcing him inside, pulling on the chains that bound him. Already standing open, the wire shelves casted ominous shadows across the form of Sam Winchester.

His rigid body language and hostile glare told them quickly they were talking to Gadreel. The angel had woken and was brewing in his wrath, small sparks of white fire flickering around him. The smell of spray paint still hung in the air as the recently drawn sigils on the walls pressed in on the captive, tethering him to the dungeon.

Crowley kept his eyes averted as he ambled to the rickety little wooden table, slamming his kit down heavily and flipping open the top with obvious disgust. Inside there was a range of picks, needles, and other long metallic objects ranging in width and length. Some still bore the residue of past use.

"Remember… only to get the information that we need," Ron warned, growling as he watched Crowley lift an instrument and approach the angel.

"Wait. What are you doing? No! NO!" Gadreel quickly realized what was about to happen to him. He shouted frantically as Crowley lifted the long spike and pressed it smoothly into his skull. The screaming and thrashing worsened and Castiel vomited into the dirty little sink he was standing near. The sights, the sounds, the smells; they brought back all too vivid memories.

Meanwhile, floors above in the sparkling clean kitchen, Dean sat alone. Bottle untouched on the table in front of him, his hands and jaw were clenched tightly as the echoes from below carried through the bunker. His face was chalk white, etched in pain.

Hermione sat in silent vigil next to the oldest brother. Ron and Cas had insisted on doing this without them despite Dean's fervent argument. It was only when Hermione had placed her hand on his arm, talking to him, that he had relented. Small, unassuming; yet she was one of the few people that any of these men would heed.

After some time, the screaming stopped but the silence was not reassuring. However, Dean did unclench his fists long enough to rub them through his too long hair and lean back in his seat. Hermione chuckled to herself, rose and left the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with a towel, in which she had wrapped everything she would need to cut Dean's hair. She set the supplies on the table without a word. Dean's eyes flicked from the table to her, coated in disbelief.

"There's nothing else to do but wait. Besides, if we wait much longer we won't be able to tell you and Sam apart," she smiled as she looped the towel under his stubbly chin, pulling him firmly back in the chair.

Dean was sweeping up the kitchen floor and Hermione was putting away her supplies when the others shuffled into the kitchen. Both Ron and Castiel looked as if they had been through the ringer; faces gaunt and pale as if they had been sick with a pale sheen of sweat covering their skin. Crowley looked exhausted; little drops of dark fluid spotted his hands and sleeves. The three of them collapsed into the empty kitchen chairs, the chains that were still binding Crowley rattled softly.

None to eager to follow them down the rabbit trail that had obvious consumed them, Dean finished his task quietly, stowing the broom and grabbing Ron and Cas a drink before slowly dragging a chair out. Stradling it, he forced his hands to hang loosely over the top. He looked at Ron, giving him the clear to dive in. Hermione had quietly joined them, lowering herself into the seat that had been left empty on Cas' right.

It was Crowley that spoke first.

"Years behind bars in heaven has made that angel very resistant," he groaned in his oily accent. "He has locked himself and Sam pretty deep in the psyche. I wasn't even able to touch them."

"Whatever methods Naomie used in resetting us are more nuanced than what we are capable of," Cas clarified, glaring at the demon hotly.

"But that doesn't mean we don't have other options…" Crowley's voice faded as Ron snapped over his.

"I already said no," his voice had a menacing edge. Dean looked curiously from his friend to Crowley, questions in his eyes. The demon raised his hands passively, eyes down on the table with a look of arrogance playing across his face.

"Crowley seems to think that he can persuade Sam to eject Gadreel if he takes possession of him," Cas stated matter of factly and Dean paled to match Ron. Surprise and trepidation flooded Dean and Hermione's face but the questions on the tip of their tongue went unspoke because it was in that moment that Harry appeared with a pop and snap in the middle of the kitchen. He was breathing heavily, eyes rimmed red and wild.

"They took her! They took her!"

Everyone at the table, save Crowley, was instantly on their feet looking concerned.

"Harry! Harry, slow down. Who has who? Who has who?" Hermione said quickly moving to grip the shoulder of her friend.

"Ginny," was all he had to say to harden the edge of everyone in the room.

"Who?" Dean barked, trying to get a handle on the situation.

"De… demons. They appeared beyond the wards… there were three of them and… and they muscled their way through. I tried to stop them but they blasted me backwards. I blacked out and when I came to, she… she was gone," he said rapid fire, shaking slightly where he stood.

"Cas…" Dean turned quickly, looking at the angel but his voice stopped and faded. Cas reddened quickly, looking down at the floor. Everyone seemed frozen, stuck in the moment, unsure what to do. Suddenly, Ron paled to a ghostly white beneath his freckles before he turned and stormed from the room without a word. Still, no one moved. Then Hermione smacked her hand to her forehead; a habit she had developed when something she felt was obvious occurred to her, and she mimicked her friend, fleeing from the room.

Curious and anxious everyone else thundered along a few feet behind the witch. Once they entered the second hallway, understanding trickled like icy rain on all but Harry; they were heading for the little yellow room with the sliding shelves.

Slowing as they approached the door, Dean shot out his hand to grab the young witches before she wrenched open the door. It had been just in time because now that the echoes of their heavy footfalls had faded, screams and shouting sounded from behind the thin wooden door. Hermione stumbled a step back, eyes wide with shock, alarmed and afraid of what she could only imagine Ron doing behind that door.

Not sure what was happening but quickly losing patience Harry jerked hard on the brass handle. His emerald eyes widened in his panicked face and he swallowed hard as he walked toward the shouts, slamming the thin wooden door behind him. Seconds passed before the yells finally stopped. Dean moved up past the rest to reach for the knob. It was then that Crowley appeared, ambling down the hallway behind them, his restraints whispering across the tile.

"I wouldn't do that Dean," he purred, although oddly there was a thread of pity woven into the taunt. It was enough to still Dean's hand. He looked surprised at the demon who shook his head softly, clearly able to see things they couldn't.

A few tense, too quiet minutes passed and Harry and Ron finally emerged, again closing the door behind them. Ron had splatters and droplets of blood across his arms and face. He was still breathing hard with a slightly manic look in his eyes. Harry still looked scared and afraid, although now the fearful look stayed on his face when he glanced at his friend.

"We know where she is," was all Ron said as he pushed past the group, meeting none of their curious glances.

In a few silent minutes they were all gathered in the atrium. Unsure of what they were walking into, they had frantically tried to prepare for all they could. Blades and pistols were strapped and stowed around their bodies, covered by tight canvas and leather clothing. Bottles of various potions were tucked into small pockets and straps. Harry was nervous and tense as he waited on pins and needles for the others to get ready.

As he stood, one horrible scenario after another kept playing through his mind. Gadreel had not been forthcoming with the little bits of information he had parted with so they still had very little to go on.

 _She's in the warehouse on the corner Blekman and Desmond._

Harry's stomach clenched as the images of blood running down the side of Sam's face blended with his worst nightmares of Ginny. Shaking his head, with his eyes squeezed shut, he focused on the last thing Sam… no, no - Gadreel said.

 _She's alive._

It was enough. Harry had been able to pull Ron off after that and they prepared to set out. Nerves and anxiety layered over the panic, guilt and anger festering inside Harry; Ron had snapped quickly, going further down that dark road than Harry had ever seen him go. He knew Ron had a fierce and unyielding loyalty towards his family; he would do anything he could to protect them. Harry had just witnessed how far that anything could really go.

Dean was the last to stomp into the atrium where the others were gathered waiting. After Ron had stormed past him, he had gone in to clean up his brother. Face set like stone, he had emerged silent and remained that way since then. Unceremoniously, he had dragged Crowley back toward the Impala, locking him up in the spelled trunk until they came back.

His eyes were still cast down as he joined the motley circle standing in the dim lights near the heavy metal doors.

"What's the plan?" he ground out, still not making eye contact with anyone.

Hermione spoke softly after a few moments of silence.

"Cas, Ron and I will head in the back entrance while you and Harry try to go in through the front," quickly Hermione grabbed Dean's hand, pushing a large golden coin into his hand. "When you find her, apparate out and send the message. The other group will follow. We'll meet in the cove about a mile west of here, the one I warded," she finished heavily, nodding firmly.

"We get her out. That's it," Harry spoke heavily, knowing that everyone's blood was boiling. His desperation was peeking and the fear was becoming so heavy he could barely breathe.

"Alright," Dean growled and he grabbed Harry's shoulder. With a pop and a crack they disappeared. Hermione looped her hand through Castiel's large soft hand and Ron's rigid cold one. Heaving a deep breath, they too left the bunker empty save for the demon in the trunk and the angel in chains

An eerie calm was settling over the rundown old neighborhood as the bodies appeared out of thin air, under the shadows of the dingy trees clinging to concrete. The blocks surrounding the warehouse were quiet; quieter than they should have been in the shady parts of a big city on a Friday night. Sinking below the murky clouds, the sun shot waves of purple and orange across the inky blue sky.

Castiel's face was heavily shadowed as he looked down at his feet. Being human had been infinitely more confusing than being an angel. Had he been standing here, grace rippling through his veins, he would be probing for what lay ahead and trying to protect those around him. But here he stood, blood coursing under his fragile human skin. Thoughts barely coalescing into anything coherent, he was trying desperately not scoop Hermione up and flee in the opposite direction. Instead, that weird thing called… love? Yes, love was holding him here, trying to fight for those that had held him together more times than he could count.

As if to punctuate the terror they were all feeling, a soul-rending shriek ripped through the twilight from deep within the warehouse.

It was enough to set Harry into motion, tearing through the weeds and gravel, hurtling small mounds of garbage until he approached the chained front doors. Wand extended, he blasted the entire entrance apart before he thundered into the darkness, Dean close on his heels.

Meanwhile, the trio coming in the from the other side of the warehouse listened as the battle started, hearing the explosions and silently praying that the coin clutched in Hermione's hand would heat up any minute. There was a small side door that Hermione unlocked quickly and they slid through it into the dusty, cobwebbed hallways of the building.

As they went lower through the levels of the abandoned factory, the temperature gradually fell. The chill crept up their fingers, into their bones. Each step drug on through time they didn't care to count. Room after room turned up empty; no smells, no stains, nothing. And their anxiety grew.

Finally, Ron pushed into a small room with nothing inside save a tiny crumpled body unconscious in a heap. Scrambling in, he skidded across the dirty floor, coming to stop beside his sister.

"Ginny?! Ginny?!" he murmured, pulling her head onto his lap and pushing the waves of scarlet hair off her pale skin. Pressing on her neck, he felt a slow but steady pulse. Waves of relief dumped across him like cold water and with a loud crack the room was empty once more.

Seconds later, Hermione nearly killed him as he appeared a few feet infront of her.

"Ron… what the hell?!" she snapped in an angry whisper, jogging to stand near him.

"Sorry. She's in the clearing. Go- help her. I'll get the others," he said, extending his hand for the coin. Hermione didn't hesitate, thinking only of her friend. She pressed the coin into his hand and grabbed Castiel's as they headed to her aid. With a twist and snap, Ron was alone.

He held the coin between two fingers as a soft flame danced on the tip of his wand. Glowing red, he waited one long moment before a soft snap echoed through the warehouse. He dropped the coin with an echoing thunk on the concrete floor and turned, resolutely to head deeper into the maze of the warehouse.


	46. Chapter 46

"Hey," Harry breathed as he hurtled down the hill after Castiel and Hermione. Sweating and covered in blood, he looked like a villain from a nightmare as he came up beside them. A deep gash ran down his forearm and blood was crusted in several spots. Dean looked no better.

Ginny was draped carefully through Cas' arms, her head burrowed sleepily into his chest. Harry jogged up beside him, gently pulling his sleeping wife into his arms. Sensing him even in her sleepy state, she threaded her arms around his neck.

"There's nothing that I can find. No injuries or spells, she's just sleeping," Hermione said as Harry twisted her slightly to look at her serene face.

Dean came stomping up behind the rest.

"I etched some sigils into the trees back there, just in case," he huffed, falling in step with Cas. "How is she?" he asked, eyes on the sleeping girl.

"She seems to be okay," Harry murmured, more relieved than he could explain. He felt as if he hold her like this for the rest of his life, safe in the circle of his arms.

"Good," Dean sighed rubbing his hands over his face. They all walked in silence for a few more yards before Dean came slamming to a stop. "Where's Ron?" his voice dripped with icy fear. Hermione's eyes flew open in terror and she dug her nails into Dean's arm. Vanishing seconds later, Cas and Harry were left staring at nothing, silently praying for their friends.

Hermione and Dean reappeared right where she had last seen Ron. Following the smudges in the grimy floor, they tiptoed after him, stomach in their throats, wand and blade at the ready. The path turned to the left and suddenly the smell of sulphur wafted over them like acid. Their eyes met in a knowing glance and their grips tightened.

Another floor down and a light started to flicker from within the last room, although no sound joined it. Hermione looped her hand through Dean's as they ventured down the hallway. Coming upon the black, dirty door jam, they pressed their backs against the wall and Dean slowly peeked his head around the corner. He pulled back around quickly as a voice leaked from the room.

"Don't be shy, Dean. Come on in," Hermione felt the sweat bead up on her neck as Abaddon's voice crooned out of the room. He squeezed her hand hard and then let it go as he spun into the room, squaring off against the Knight of Hell.

Ron was sitting unconscious in a filthy metal chair in the center of the room, hands bound behind his back and a nasty slice across his forehead. Abaddon, in her tight black jeans and glaring technicolored t-shirt, strolled around him, the heels of her boots clicking loudly.

"Don't be shy, sweetheart, join the party," she purred and Hermione edged into the room, eyes widening at the sight of her friend.

"What a nice surprise. Who knew my little smash and grab would land me such a prize catch! Dean Winchester, in the flesh." The smile that played across her lips left his stomach feeling cold. Eyes glinting like green steel, Dean kept them locked on the demon as she circled around his wounded friend.

"Well, here I am so let the boy go," he growled. Coming to stand just beside her captive, she rested a pale hand on his shoulder as he jerked awake. His head whipped around in a panic and he turned a soft shade of green when he caught sight of Abaddon next to him.

"Dean… I…" he started but the look from the eldest Winchester stilled his lips.

"Now, honey I don't think that you'll be needing that," Abaddon let the words fall with silky menace before her hand shot up and Hermione slammed back into the wall, her wand clattering to the floor by her feet. "Everybody is just going to take a moment to relax and listen to a little story."

Abaddon started to talk, repeating much of what they already knew. She filled in some of the more grisly details about how she possessed Josie. Her story finished with her flame-covered expulsion from the church the night the angels had fallen.

"So you see… heaven is in smoldering heaps on the ground. It's the perfect time for a little coup in hell. I mean, seriously, a salesman helming Hell? Worse. Joke. Ever," her face suddenly grew serious as she looked at the eldest Winchester. "It was never meant to be this...this bureaucratic, paper-pushing, deadline driven machine. Hell is chaos… pure, blissful untempered chaos," and her eyes fluttered behind her eyelids as she tipped her head back, a small shiver running down her body. Dean felt his stomach roll. He had no delusions about Crowley; he knew the so-called King of Hell would double cross them to suit his own needs faster than he could blink. But having him sitting on the throne seemed a far sight better than having this psychotic bitch behind the wheel.

"And who would make a better queen than one of the First," she smiled again.

"So what do I have to do with your grab for the crown jewels?" Dean snapped, moving just a fraction closer to the demon.

"You… nothing. Your a blip in the scan, a smudge on the fax. But you might know something about the one I am looking for. Crowley. Not much a fight, I know. But I can't have that simpering idiot mounting any kind of resistance. Bad for business. So I offer a trade. Your small, pathetic human in exchange for my small, pathetic demon."

The deal was simple and Dean had no qualms with the stakes but he had been around the block and few times and he knew that hidden somewhere in those words was a knife in his back or across the throat of someone he loved.

"Do you really think that I can just deliver Crowley? I mean, he is the King of Hell," Dean pitched, hoping that Abaddon didn't know too much.

"He is nothing more than a simpering pile of…"

"Now, now darling. Sticks and stones," the velvety thick voice of the crossroads demon-gone-King slid around the corner and moments later, he appeared. The chains Dean had clanked around his wrists were gone and he looked cleaner, more whole than when Dean had last seen him. Questions crinkled the hunters eyes but he kept his mouth shut.

So distracted by the appearance of her prey, Abaddon's hold on Hermione lessened and she slowly ran down the wall, all the way to the ground where the young witch quickly and discreetly scooped up her wand. She stayed completely still as Abaddon prowled toward the doorway, eyes locked on the lesser demon.

"Crowley. How… convenient," she purred, that sickening smile returning to her face.

"I believe you had an offer," he quipped look up at her casually, causing her to laugh.

"No. I don't make offers Crowley. I'm a demon… a Knight of Hell. I take," and with that she reached her fingers, tipped in lethal red nail polish, toward the slight man, gesturing to squeeze a scream from him.

Within in the same second, Crowley's face changed, eyes flying wide and mouth shouting.

"GO!"

Before he exploded in a blinding white light that pulsed and orbed around the room. Hermione didn't need to be told more than once. As Abaddon had reached for her victim, Hermione took her chance. She flung herself forward, gripping Ron's ankle in one hand and Dean's jacket in the other.

White power pulsed only a few seconds more before Abaddon blasted it away with black shards. Gray smoke danced in the edges of the room as she looked around, standing alone. This time her mouth ripped wide in a furious yell as the walls around her, above her, beneath her, started to crumble.

Hermione, Dean, and Ron appeared on the kitchen floor, breathing hard and eyes flying wild. Footsteps crashed through the library and Hermione whipped around, wand at the ready just as Castiel burst into the room. Heaving a sigh, she let the wand fall to the ground as he scooped her up, burying his face in her hair.

Seconds later, Harry appeared, running slower face looking haggard. He glanced at the three on the floor before running a hand through his always messy hair.

"It worked," was all he said as he slid to the floor, leaning his pounding head against head against the wall.

Despite the layers of protection built in and surrounding the bunker, Hermione, Cas and Dean spent the next several hours replenishing spells and layering sigils, spreading salt and powders, checking stowed weapons.

During this time, Cas explained what Harry had done. Something between conjuring a patronus and a sending; he had fabricated that aberration to look like Crowley, right down to the demonic soul that she would see through the vessel, but he knew it would only fool Abaddon for a few moments. He had just hoped it would long enough for them to get out of there. Luckily, it had worked but the effort has knocked Harry out for a few minutes. He come to long enough to run into the kitchen when they returned and then he had spent the last few hours unconscious next to his wife.

Dean had stormed past Ron, not meeting his eyes or saying a word. Hermione sympathetically had helped him get to his room but even she had to stifle her frustration. Nearly everyone in the bunker was furious with Ron, each for their own specific reasons. It was almost as if he knew, because he stayed in the small room during the hours that they others worked.

Finally satisfied that they were as protected as they had the power to be, each drifted off to their own corners of the bunker to wash away the taint of the day and settle into whatever rest they could.

Night passed and the sun rose. It was well on its way through the sky when bodies started to move in the bunker. Hermione and Cas were the first into the kitchen. Heaving a sigh, they resolutely set about the ritual of preparing breakfast for those sleeping and showering. But their hearts weren't in it. Frustrations and anger still lingered in them and the impending storm between them all hung over the place like a dense rain cloud.

Dean was the first to join them. Silently. He nodded at the cup of coffee that Cas handed him and seated himself at the counter, away from the table. After a few long moments, he seemed to master his voice.

"How are you feeling?" he asked Hermione, looking at her softly. It had been less than a day after her own kidnapping they had been pulled down another rabbit trail. She smiled at his concern.

"Good. Balance still hasn't recovered," she added as her hip clipped the edge of the counter painfully. Grimacing, she smiled warmly and Dean returned the gesture. His eyes slid to Cas, the same question passing unspoken. Cas had undergone the same ordeal, not to mention the gut wrenching experience with Hermione.

"Also well," he replied in his deep voice, smiling. It still struck Dean as strange to see Cas smile so freely. As an angel he had never really had a sense of humor, he still didn't as a man. And as an angel, Dean had seen him smirk or smile rarely. But he seemed to just _feel_ more as a man. He smiled more, he cried more. He screamed and whispered. It was still strange for Dean to get used to after all these years of the other Castiel.

But he liked it; it felt more authentic. He clasped a hand on the mans shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly as footsteps clicked through the atrium. Slowly he set his coffee down and kept his eyes trained on the stainless steel counter unsure of who would be entering the kitchen. Hermione turned back to the stove to await the answer.

It was Cas that first saw the red hair and hollow face stagger into view, a brilliant purple bruise coloring his neck. Ron looked no better than he had when they had snatched from Abaddon's clutches, although now he was at least clean. His shadow danced across the kitchen tile as he ambled into the awkwardly silent kitchen. Hermione poured him a cup of black coffee and set it on the counter as far from Dean as she possibly could.

He eyed the cup and carefully walked toward it, eyes still downcast.

"Ron, how are you feeling?" Castiel broke the silence, knowing the young man was probably harboring some injuries from his time with the Knight of Hell.

"I think I have a fractured rib but otherwise okay," he said, still not touching the coffee. Dean smiled sarcastically. In a fluid motion too fast for any of them to stop, he was on his feet and leveled a solid punch across the younger mans jaw. Ron fell backwards to the tile, lip dripping and swelling as Dean towered over him, breathing hard, fists still clenched.

"Dean!" Hermione yelled, coming to standing beside him placing a hand on his shoulder, the sizzling pan of bacon on the stove forgotten. Shrugging away from her, he took a step towards Ron, who had the grace to keep his eyes down.

"You could have been killed! What… it wasn't bad enough that we had to be sick over Ginny- you wanted to add to that? What the hell did you think you were going to to accomplish? She is a Knight of Hell! Our demon sticker barely fazed her. Did you think you were going to abracadabra her to death? Or were you going to try a number on her like you did with Sammy? You know, he wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for you!" the words flew in a hot rage from Dean, loud and condemning. He finished, eyes blazing hot and locked on the paler-than usual young man bleeding on the floor.

Only the sounds of their hesitant breathing echoed in the too quiet kitchen as moments passed. Slowly, Ron drug himself to his feet, jerking his hand from Cas' as he tried to help. Once standing he pulled his eyes up to meet Dean's. The older man stared at him, jaw hard and eyes cloudy.

"I'm sorry. I screwed up. I wasn't thinking. I just…" Dean snapped, step nearly nose to nose with him.

"Damn right you weren't thinking! That seems to a be a trend with you lately! Do you realize that everything you do has a consequence? Not just for you but for everyone you love?! In this life, every choice you make," he poked a stiff finger into the boy's chest, "affects them," he pointed at Cas and Hermione.

Dean sighed, turning his back on Ron and running his hand through his hair.

"You can't be apart of this… any of this if you can't get yourself together. You're gonna get yourself or someone you love killed. And trust me… that is a burden that you don't shake or bury. You carry that forever." He stormed passed Ron, heading who knows where deep the bunker, leaving the three in the kitchen.

"I am sorry," Ron whispered, eyes back to the floor.

"We know. And Dean does too. You just scared him… you scared all of us," Hermione said, leaning against the counter.

"I know."

Too much time with the Winchesters and still unused to human emotions, Castiel could only respond to the anger he was feeling.

"You do know how much this has cost us right? She knows all of us now. It was bad enough she went for Harry but now she knows our faces, our smell. And she thinks we have Crowley. You just put all of us at the top of her list," he ground, trying unsuccessfully to hide the contempt in his voice. Ron swallowed hard as Cas, not trusting himself, left the room.

Eyes red but dry, Ron silently stood, finishing his coffee as Hermione returned her fractured attention to the slightly burnt breakfast she doubted anyone would eat. Eventually, Harry and Ginny joined them in the kitchen. The last time Ginny had seen her brother, he'd been passed out drunk on her couch. Despite the fact that he looked like a demon punching bag, seeing him sober and whole flooded her with relief and she hugged him hard. It took Ron by surprise, she had never really been one to display affection.

Harry stood a step or two behind her. He was having more trouble accepting the new facets of Ron's personality. After all, other than Dean, only he had seen what Ron had done to Sam, watched him do to Sam. It was hard to look someone in the eye after that. Still, had it not been for Ron who knows how long it would have taken them to find Ginny; she wore a concealment amulet that made it impossible scry for her.

So as his slight wife moved toward the coffee pot, he locked eyes with the best friend he felt like he barely knew. And in two short steps, pulled him into a hard hug clutching his shoulders. He could practically feel the relief break over Ron as he held onto Harry like he was the only anchor he had in the storm. Seconds passed before Harry pulled back, still keeping a hand on Ron's shoulder.

Ron smiled at him, eyes watery. "Thanks," was all he said.

* * *

Bodies healed and hearts mended as the day passed. No one saw Dean for several hours. When he reappeared, he seemed at least calm, which was an improvement. Cas too had spent much of the day occupied elsewhere in the bunker. He checked in on Hermione once or twice but otherwise left her to the company of Harry, Ginny, and Ron.

The four spent time in the kitchen, eating and talking about lots of things and nothing at all. Ron slowly relaxed around them. He knew he didn't deserve their friendship; especially not now. Between pulling him drunk from bars and watching him tear a friend apart, they owed him nothing. And still they sat with him and laughed with him, trying desperately to hold him together.

Darkness curled through the windows when Dean returned to the kitchen, dressed and packed for a job. He set his duffle on the counter and looked hard at the four who had grown quiet in their conversation.

"I need to get Sammy back. I don't see any other options but I ain't unleashing Crowley here. Cas is coming with and we should be back hopefully before sun up," he spoke with a short thread in his voice and looked at everyone but Ron.

Hermione rose.

"Let me get my stuff," she said as she walked from the room.

"Hermione, you don't…" Dean started.

"I know. But I am anyways," she shouted back to them, not stopping or looking back.

Dean sought to fill the silence until they returned.

"Ginny, how are you holding up?" he asked.

"All things considered, I couldn't be better. I think my hip is bruised but other than that no lasting marks," she smiled as she moved to grab another drink from the fridge.

"Harry?" he followed she she grew quiet.

"Top notch. Bone-tired and ridiculously hungry. But all in all alright," he rose and moved to stand at the counter with Dean. "Listen, I can…"

"No. Stay here. Keep an eye on things," and Dean couldn't help but flick his eyes toward Ron, sitting alone at the table, head bent over his tea. Harry turned to look at his friend and then back at Dean. He had heard about the conversation from this morning. He couldn't blame Dean; he had had some of the same thoughts himself. But he had known Ron most of his life. Deep down, he only ever did what he thought was right.

"Dean, he feels really horrible about… about everything," Harry started.

"Damn straight," Dean growled quietly.

"This is just a new type of life for him. And I don't know how cut out he is for it. He knows he messed up," Harry said.

"He knows… we all know he messed up. It don't fix it and it don't make it right. He made choices and choices have consequences," Dean said, absent mindedly sorting through the items in his bag. Harry looked at him, appealing.

"Dean…"

"Look - let me get Sammy right and then we can talk. Until then, he's on ice," with that Dean shouldered his bag and turned, heading into the bunker.

Nearly 20 minutes later, Cas, Hermione and Dean reappeared, hauling a heavily chained Gadreel. He looked with pure venom at Ron as they passed through the kitchen, into the garage. Moments later the doors of the Impala opened and slammed and then the engine roared to life. As the sound faded into the night, Ron sat, head in his hands, trying very hard not to think about the bottles in the cabinet.

In Dean's mind, the plan was simple. Roll up to a small, out of the way place, ward it up and let Crowley flush that angel out of his brother. But the sheer simplicity made Dean's stomach flip; there were so many, many things that could go wrong it was hard to pick one to be primarily concerned about.

Nevertheless, he was tired of Gadreel riding shotgun in his brother and he needed to cross something off the list of everything going wrong. So they chained him to the floor of the filthy little shed. They sprayed sigils and wards on every inch they could. They hauled the bedraggled, disgusting demon from the trunk and plunked him down in front of the fuming angel.

Crowley smiled at the proposition, relishing in their desperation and sensing his chance for escape.

"You get him - that's it," Dean growled for the fourth time, reaching reluctant hands towards the manacles around the demons wrists.

"Yes- yes- free the moose," Crowley murmured.

"When you find him - say Poughkeepsie. It means drop everything and go," Dean said in a low voice.

After a few half-hearted quips between him and Gadreel, the demon stretched his mouth open as crimson smoke shot out, slamming into Sam's mouth, pinning his head to the wall behind him. Finally the flow stopped and Crowley's empty vessel sat hunched in the chair opposite Sams too-crowded body.

"Not bad," Crowley purred as he appeared in the dim library of the Men of Letters bunker. Sam leapt to his feet, clearly shocked to see the demon.

"Dean? Dean!" he shouted.

"Poughkeepsie," Crowley said simply looking hard at the tall man.

"How do you know that word?" Sam asked, edgy but curious. Crowley rolled his eyes in frustration, stepping toward Sam.

"Because Dean's sent me, Bullwinkle, the real Dean. I'll make this quick - you've been possessed by an angel. He's got you packed away in some dusty corner of your own mind, and I'm here to break you out," and with that Crowley spread his hands wide in a welcome gesture, clearly waiting for Sam to jump on the bandwagon.

But he didn't.

"Seriously?" he said, glaring through slitted eyes at the demon. Crowley threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes, knowing they were running out of time,

"Fine. We'll do this the fun way," and he snatched the pearl handled pistol off the tabletop and fired it point blank into Sam's chest. The hunter stumbled back, shock and anger playing across his face as he clutched his shirt front. But slowly he realized it didn't hurt, there's no blood and his shirt wasn't even torn.

"See? Not real. Like I said. I know how possession works, Sam. You've seen everything that Gadreel's seen, even if you can't remember. That's what I need you to do. I need you to remember," Crowley set the gun down and came within feet of Sam, pleading in earnest.

Sam stood, still unsure of what was happening but the name Gadreel had pulled on something in his mind. He tugged hard at the thread, closing his eyes and focusing all of his energy on it. Suddenly, he felt like he couldn't breath as memories slammed into him. Stumbling back a few steps to braced himself against the chair, he pulled his eyes open, breathing hard.

"See? Now, you need to take control. Sam, blow it up and cast that punk-ass holy roller out!" Crowley's voice finished in a gravelly shout as he gestured, ordering Sam to finish this. Just then Sam glanced behind Crowley and the sight of a strange man caused him to squint and shift. Crowley stood a moment, confused, before he realized what that look must mean.

"What? Oh, bollocks!"

"Hello, Sam," came the careful, measured voice of the angel from the first vessel he had possessed.

"Gadreel?" Sam choked.

"The original chump," Crowley prodded.

"Was a chump. And now? I'm going to be the one that leads my kind back to heaven. I'm going to be a hero. But you, demon, for all your chatter, you will always be a coward. You should be running," as he finished his self-righteous speech, Crowley once more rolled his eyes and cocked his fist back, socking the angel square in the face. Gadreel reacted more quickly than the demon had anticipated, hurling him over the smooth mahogany table. Sam dove onto the angel, trying to stop him but Gadreel swatted him down like a fly. Coming down overtop of him, the angel's cold hands locked over Sam's throat and his eyes started to flutter.

"Give up, boy. You're not strong enough," he demanded as his grip grew tighter.

"Take control, Sam! Cast him out!" Crowley shouted as he staggered to his feet. Sam's eyes continued to roll and a purple tinge spread across his face as he tried to speak.

"Get out of my -" Gadreel tightened his grip as he lifted his voice over Sam's.

"You sure you want me to go? Maybe I'm the only thing holding you together. I leave, you might die!" Pulling on his last breath, Sam slammed his knee into the back of the angel, causing him to release the hunters throat to catch himself. Taking the advantage, Sam slammed himself headlong into the invader, pinning him on his back and using his elbow to press down on his throat.

"I said get...the hell...Out!" Sam pressed hard on the skin of the angel with each word, willing Gadreel from his body.

Dark red smoke and bright white light twisted through the little run down shed like a misshapen, melting candy cane. Spiraling back into the surly little body, Crowley was the first to open his eyes. In the few seconds that the others were waiting for Sam to follow suit, the demon took his leave without a word. The white light shot from every room of the shed, leaving Sam looking wrung out and deflated. It was a long heavy moment before he sucked in a sharp breath and flung his eyes open.

Sam stared wide-eyed around him as memories jockeyed for position in his mind.

"Dean!" he called out on instinct and within a moment, his brother was on his knees, beside Sam, hand on his shoulder.

"Hey man, hey. It's good. We're here," he said, relief tangible in his voice. Slowly, Sam came to his feet with his brothers help. He smiled when he saw the young witch, eyes damp with relief and joy at seeing her friend unharmed and completely his own again. She hugged him, barely coming level with his chest, burying her nose in his plaid.

"I'm okay. I'm good," he murmured as she pulled away, looking at him. He turned to Cas, who had been waiting further from the scene, full of anxiety. Sam's lips tightened when he saw him. Sam knew, second hand from Gadreel, that Cas had played a big part in what he had been going through recently. But Sam was no stranger to the path of good intentions.

"Cas- I understand. We're… we're good," the look of hope and relief in those crystal blue eyes popped but Sam continued, "Just one thing…"

And in true Winchester form, he pulled his fist level and popped Castiel on the jaw.

* * *

They were dragging knife blades through the sigils, preventing anyone from stumbling into something unpleasant, when they heard it. A distant, heavy crash in some bushes. But they were too far out for it to be coincidental. Dean immediately straightened, eyes straining in the dark.

"We need to go. Now!" he shouted, jerking the canvas bag into his hand heading to the door. Holding it open for the three to pour through, he saw the shapes moving in the darkness about 30 yards to his right.

Too close to make a clean getaway.

"Get in the car," he growled as he pulled two handles from the duffle before it hit the gravel. Cas froze, following Dean's eyes. His face paled and a sheen of sweat budded across his forehead as features became visible. There were five, maybe six, figures moving with grim determination towards them.

"Those are angels," he stated.

"Awesome," Sam snapped sarcastically as he yanked an angel blade and small pistol from the discarded bag.

"Guys, seriously…" Dean started.

"Dean… shut up," Hermione snapped as she quickly wafted around them, small tendrils of color coming from the tip of her wand and wrapping around the men before disappearing. They had learned that blood-born magic wasn't a big stick against the heavenly host but that didn't mean she hadn't found ways to safe-guard their bodies from breaking as they were chucked around.

As she finished, coming to stand between Castiel and Dean, she looked at the oncomers, now discernible in the darkness. Similar in height and build, they looked like farmers that had fallen prey to some persuasive angels. When little more than a dozen feet separated the two groups, one of the angels growled with a feral yell and hurtled his blade, end over end, towards them. Cas ducked, avoiding the blow and the battle began in earnest.

Blasts fired and blows landed. Grunts and yells sounded as the angel posse threw them across the yard. Sometimes they would land a hit or stab of their own but nothing strong or solid enough to gank one of the attackers. Castiel finally managed to get under the blade of the angel pushing him further and further to the edges of the light. A screaming and glaring light ripped at the edges of the dark night before the empty body fell to a heap in the grass.

Cas poured on speed and came up beside Dean, ramming his blade to the hilt in the back of the second angel closing in the brother. He too exploded with a flash of power before collapsing to nothing. Leaving Dean to manage the one weary looking angel still pressing in on him, Cas whipped around, eyes scrambling for Hermione.

It only took a few seconds; she had an older man pinned against the wall with her wand, blasting small, painful yet non lethal spells at him. Pain and regret etched across her features and Cas knew she would not kill this angel, she could only see the innocent vessel in front of her. Hardening his face, he moved across the space between them, intent on finishing the work Hermione couldn't. In the seconds it took him to close the space, the angel got under Hermiones blows and landed a hand on her arm. Her face was rimmed in white light as the hand of the angel glowed hot. Hermione fell to the floor, eyes open and skin pale.

His world stopped as those soft brown eyes looked back at him, not moving, not seeing. Boiling from the bottom up, rational thought broke in his mind. Screaming her name as he flew through the air, he slammed the surprised angle against the outside of the tattered shed. Like a man possessed, he whipped the tip of his blade across the throat of the angel. Silvery white vapor floated from the dry wounded into the air as the life behind the angel's eyes dimmed.

With a deep breath, the vapor disappeared and Castiel glowed like a torch in the darkness. Power, undiluted, blasted from his body, wreathing his body in a halo of power. The shadow of his wings stark against the wall behind him. With a few short flutters, he closed his hand closed over the skulls of the remaining angels. They flashed like fireworks before wilting to the ground, nothing more than empty husks.

He didn't speak, didn't even blink as he moved from the last fallen angel toward the young woman lying on the scorched earth. Fingers trembling, he reached forward and pressed them against her forehead. Suddenly she pulled in a heavy breath and her eyes fluttered. He fell to his knees beside her, breathing hard.

Sam and Dean stood in shock amidst the bodies Cas had dropped, eyes trained on his back. Hermione looked confused as she laid a hand over his. Quickly, she yanked it back as his skin glowed orange and white. When he looked at her, the pupils of his red rimmed eyes glowed hot white and blue.

"I'm sorry… I had too…" his voice broke as he clenched his eyes shut. What an odd thing; to feel shame as an angel. Hermione bit her bottom lip, cocking her head to the side. Hustling to her knees, she threw her arms around him. Running the the tips of her fingers through his short hair, she whispered and murmured to her angel as he clung to her.

"So you are juiced now?" Dean clarified as they drove back to the bunker. After the shock had worn off, Cas had used his stolen grace to stow the empty vessels under several yards of dirt. They had then quietly loaded the Impala and headed home. It had taken several songs for Dean to think through how to start that conversation. But eventually they understood.

An angel can imbibe the grace of another and restore himself as far as celestial power goes. But it is considered reproachable and the solution is temporary at best. Being borrowed, the grace will eventually fade and Cas was very cagey about what the effects would be of fading grace.

"Yes- for a significant period," and then he was quiet, eyes watching the world whip past the window, fingers wrapped in those of the witch burrowed into his side. She had been very quiet. Hermione could help but feel responsible for the position Cas was now in.

A comfortable quiet settled over those in the car as they drove down a stretch of highway a few miles out from the bunker. Sam was Sam, Castiel had batteries; all in all Dean felt like this had more tallies in the win column.

Until a force from nowhere slammed into the side of the car, sending it flying off the right side of the highway into a freshly plowed cornfield. Jerking and grinding the wheel, Dean fought to regain control as another blast flung them fender first back onto the asphalt. A shower of sparks flew past the windshield as Dean swore, trying to straighten the car out. The next blow landed on the hood of the car, smashing it to a halt and leaving a huge dent behind. Swerving to the side, tires screaming and smoking, Dean threw it into park realizing that continuing to drive was inviting more hits.

"Show yourself, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, leaping from the car with his gun pulled. The others followed suit, edgy and alert, the memories of their recent fight clear and still present on their clothes and skin.

Just to salt the wound, a sick laugh poured from the darkness.

"As you wish," she purred stepping from the nothingness into the light of the headlights. Dean rolled his eyes and leveled his gun squarely at the demon, knowing it wouldn't do much more than tick her off.

"I told, I don't know where Crowley is," he barked, hoping the honesty in his voice rang through.

"Oh, you think that's why I'm here? No, no no," and she laughed again. "I don't like being toyed with Dean. And that was a very dirty trick you played on me. So I have one for you," her clawlike hand shot out and crunched into a fist as Dean went to his knees, gasping and choking. Blood bubbled in his mouth and he heaved everything in this stomach and then some onto the dark, dry road. Amusement and satisfaction flared across Abaddon's face as she twisted her hand and Dean went flat on his back, gurgling, not moving.

Hermione flung her wand across her body, leaving a long gash up Abaddon's thigh. As she crashed to her feet beside Dean, hoisting him onto his side so he didn't choke to death, the slit healed over, leaving even the skin tight jeans unmarred. But it had given Cas enough time to come between the demon and the hunter, eyes popping white. His angel blade appeared in his hand as her smile turned to a scowl. Setting her feet to launch what was sure to be deadly attack, she fell flat on her side as torrents of black smoke plowed into her, enveloping her in a sulphurous sphere. Crowley appeared inches from Sam.

"GO!" he screamed as the black whirlwind surrounding the demon started to spark and crack, like something in the heart of the torrent was exploding.

Those standing beyond the battle didn't need to be told twice. Hoisting a struggling Dean to his feet, Hermione pulled him over her, falling into the backseat of the Impala. Sam spun on his heels and crashed into the passenger seat as Castiel slid across the hood of the car and slammed the driver side door behind him. Not bothering with levers and pedals, he smacked his hand on the dash and the car whipped to the side and peeled out down the highway.

As the taillights faded into nothingness, the black cloud reducing the road to rubble was slowly diffused under the lightning and explosions from within. Crowley stood alone in the middle of the abandoned street, head tilted slightly left, watching the attack dissipate. When the last of the smoke drifted off as nothing more than vapors, Abaddon stood breathing hard looking livid.

A smile spread across Crowley's face.

"Hello, darling," he murmured.

"Crowley," she spat. From the shadows behind her, several figures materialized, each sporting reflective, hollow black eyes. In response, several suited figures emerged from near Crowley. A long heavy moment crackled with tension unit Abaddon turned her head to the left and said in a low, strained voice.

"Bring me his head." Those behind her started to move forward slowly, step by deliberate step. Crowley smiled, winking, and then suddenly the two demons on the far left of Abaddon's front line choked and collapsed, smouldering and still. Hesitating, the other demons cast a nervous glance toward Abaddon and then back at Crowley.

"See, that's the thing about demons. They're only obedient to a point. Right. Let's have a chat," and he clicked his fingers, causing a sumptuous antique chair appear underneath him.

"I'm not here to talk," she seethed.

"And I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to them, the average demon, because I feel their pain. It must have been difficult, with your loving king so cruelly taken from you. I imagine you felt lost at sea. And then along came...The brute," he paused gesturing toward Abaddon without bothering to glance at her. "She's strong...and a knight and immortal -at the moment. So I'm not surprised that some of my more idiotic subjects bought her line. But now? Good news, fellas. Daddy's home," and he turned his hands up in a welcoming gesturing, the double edge of ice dripping down his voice.

"Hell doesn't want you, Crowley. It's mine," she said in a voice barely above a growl.

"Is it? Not what I hear. Not while I'm still kicking."

"Well, then, let's settle it. You and me. Right here. Winner takes the crown," and black smoke wrapped around her fingertips, moving slowly up her arms in sickening tendrils.

"See, that's your problem, love. You think this is a fight," and he smiled.

"It's not?" she asked mockingly.

"It's a campaign. Hearts and minds, that's what's important. See, the demons have a choice - take orders from the world's angriest ginger - and that's saying something - or join my team, where everyone gets a say, a virgin, and all the entrails they can eat. So, think on this, lads. Spread the word - vote Crowley," with a snap of his fingers, Abaddon was left standing alone with some doubtful demons.


	47. Chapter 47

**T** he garage door moved up slowly and Cas pulled the Impala swiftly into the dimly lit space. Sam had spent the better part of the car ride back to the bunker white knuckling it as the old muscle car whipped around corners at high speeds.

Hermione devoted her attention to Dean, who lay with his head in her lap, looking sick and pale. Once away from Abaddon, the convulsing and bleeding had stopped but he still felt like someone had taken a pitchfork to his insides. Resting, eyes closed, listening to Hermione slowly whisper healing spells over him, the piercing pain dulled and he felt the flush in his face fade.

As Castiel lifted his hand, the engine noise faded and the headlights shut off. They all sat in the car quietly, not sure what to do after the chaos of the last two hours. Castiel still felt out of place in his own skin, adjusting again to the familiar pressure of grace. Flexing his fingers, he focused on tamping down the orange flash that rippled underneath the skin, sighing deeply.

"Well… that was…" Sam started but he couldn't seem to find the words to finish.

"Yes, it was," Cas said heavily.

"Uhh… but anyways, thanks guys," Dean rasped. Dean struggled to a sitting position, watching the small patches of light on the edge of his vision twinkle and glint.

"Nice driving, Andretti," Dean said, clasping Cas on the shoulder. He smiled and shrugged.

"Speed seemed imperative," he said.

"Ya done good man, thanks," Dean ground out, gritting his teeth as he hauled himself from the car. Hermione was still by his side, pulling his massive arm over her tiny shoulders, guiding him to the door that led into the bunker.

Despite the late hour, they heard the sound of the television once they entered the kitchen. Sam, the last to enter, slammed the door harder than he meant to but his exhaustion made functioning difficult. The four of the them managed to amble to the table in the kitchen, collapsing into the plastic chairs, trying to recover from everything they'd been through.

Seconds later, the three keeping watch over the bunker came crashing into the kitchen, eyes still clouded with sleep and hair sticking up in all directions. Eyes flicking frantically, they were unnerved, but not surprised, to see their friends covered in dirt and blood. They had expected something to happen.

Sam cast an icy glare towards Ron when he entered the room, causing the young man to pale and become very interested in the appearance of his socked feet.

"So… looks like that went well," Harry chimed, trying to break the tension but he quickly remembered why he was not the comic relief when no one even cracked a smile.

"We got jumped by the angel squad after we gave Gadreel the pink slip," Dean said through grimaced teeth. "Luckily, Wings here got some mojo so that fight ended before things got really bad," Dean finished, eyes on Castiel who, not really feeling up to talking, simply let the grace light up his eyes like white fire orbs. Ginny swallowed audibly and Harry looked confused but they could tell not was not the time to ask for the full story.

"After that we were headed home when Abaddon paid a visit," Hermione chirped when everyone was quiet. "She ugh… wanted to have a fairly forceful conversation. But Crowley showed up as a distraction and we booked it," she finished.

The news settled heavily over all of them. But exhaustion was set too deep in most of them to be able to think about anything coherently. Again that familiar feeling of peace at having all the heads under one roof despite the chaos and calamity of the situation settled over each person. The bitterness, the words that would come, the stories that needed shared - it could all wait.

Over the next few minutes, hot water poured from shower heads. Swirls of dirt and blood circled the drains, taking more than filth with it. Slowly the bodies assembled without speaking in the large room that had become a gathering place. The television murmured some movie that no one remembered starting. Bodies poured into worn down arm chairs and overstuffed, threadbare couches. Eyelids drooped and the sound of deep, rhythmic breathing threaded through the room.

Dean was the last one to amble into the room. He poked his head in curious as to why the light was still on when he was sure he was the last one out of the bathroom. His face changed as he scanned the room, taking in the sight of all the sleeping faces. Only Castiel and Sam remained awake. Despite everything, he smirked. And slumped into the brown velvet recliner next to his brother, crossed arms covering his chest as they always did when he slept.

A few minutes passed and Cas clicked the lights out while everyone drifted into a much need sleep.

As the sun rose the next morning, each person moved through their day with something close to normalcy. No one pushed the envelope with difficult conversations or grudge matches. But the goal quickly became singular and focused; Abaddon. Each person helped in the work of pouring through the books in the Men of Letters many rooms and through the troves of information online.

"Dean- there is something odd in your dad's journal," Hermione said, tucking her hair behind her ear as she sat next to him in one of the well-worn wooden library chairs. Dean watched her wince as her eyes slid in and out of focus for just a breath. He'd died more than his fair share so he knew sometimes it took awhile to regain your footing.

On one of the thumbed pages in the mix and mash of information in John's journal there was a short entry. Scanning it Dean honed in on the word Abbadon, which was enough to garner his full attention.

"I can't make out what these numbers mean," she said.

"It's the code to a storage lock up," he murmured, rereading the entry to try and glean anything else helpful.

"It might be worth checking out," she suggested. Slim as it was, it was the most solid lead they'd had in awhile.

Not long after that, she and Dean relaxed to the purr of the Impala as it prowled down the highway. When they had presented the idea to the others, each had been eager to jump on the bandwagon. But after pointing out that it was barely a lead, and one that didn't forebode of anything more than leg work, they had convinced the others to stay.

Castiel had been frustrated but Hermione had convinced him he was needed there. Inwardly, she knew he still wasn't on solid footing after the return of his grace and she wanted to give him more time to adjust before being dipped headlong back into society. Besides, she really did think it was nothing more than a milk run.

Dean jerked up on the filthy metal handle and a plum of greasy dust scattered around the two standing in the glow of the witchlight coming from Hermione's wand. It was the middle of the night and the only ones to see them were the cockroaches.

Hermione had been to one or two of the Winchester storage units and that was enough to teach her to let Dean take the lead when entering the room. He deftly disconnected the tripwire hidden inches past the entrance. Leaving the Devil's Trap intact as well as the holy water deluge linked to a false book, they began to carefully explore the rest of the unit, hoping to find anything about Abbadon hidden inside.

"Here we go - this file has the same date as the journal entry," Hermione chimed as she unearthed a filthy little folder from between two sinister looking boxes. "Looks like your dad was working with another hunter when he captured the demon that mentioned Abaddon." Dean came to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder as she sifted through the papers. Beneath some notes, there was a photo of a woman - her smile and the position of her body against the Impala suggested that whatever relationship she had to John, it was personal. Dean lifted it, turning to scan the back.

"That "T" in the journal - stands for Tara - must've been another hunter that went in on the hunt," he said. "I don't know her…"

"According to the rest of your dad's notes, they caught and questioned the demon - then exorcised him. Prior to that, he mentioned Abbadon and… the First Blade?" Hermione turned to look at Dean.

"Never heard of that either - but I might be able to find someone who does," he wiggled the picture of the unknown Tara, smirking. They spent a few more minutes checking through the unit. Coming up with nothing more than spare ammo and some files about some higher level demons that Hermione knew Sam would want to catalog, they left. Dean carefully reattached the tripwire before sliding the old door back over the cache.

Red lights spotted the horizon as Dean and Hermione headed north to the last place John Winchester's journal noted Tara to be. Neither noticed the deep red eyes of a short, savvy dressed demon watching them, standing just outside John's lock up.

Dean and Hermione drove several hours to get to the outskirts of the town where Tara owned a pawn shop. Sleeping for a few hours in the Impala before finishing the drive, it was late morning when they pushed open the glass door with bars on one side that jingled the little bell through the old store.

Standing behind the counter was a woman whose only tell in age were the lines the patterned her face, betraying the sorrows she'd seen. She looked up from the book she was reading and began to study them with the passive intensity of a hunter.

"Tara?" Dean ventured, recognizing her from the picture of the woman she used to be.

"That's what the sign says. Can I help you?" she asked, politely brisk.

"Yeah. Hope so. John Winchester ring a bell? I'm his son," Dean said, continuing to approach the counter.

"You Sam or Dean?"

"Dean."

"Well, didn't you grow up pretty. Making a family business of the family business?" she arched her eyebrows as she glanced towards Hermione, who pretended to miss the insinuation completely.

"Something like that," she replied, stepping up to the counter with John's file in hand. Dean followed her lead.

Dean began to explain their visit. Tara was shocked to learn that a Knight of Hell was still topside but, in true hunter fashion, she hid it underneath a bitter smirk. She tried to deter them but when she saw the steel in Dean's eye, that same spark his daddy had, she caved.

She stepped down off the stool and turned to the stack of filing cabinets behind her. After a few moments of sifting, she turned back around, a file in her hand. She slide it across the counter to the other two as she started to explain.

"The demon said the archangels used a weapon that could kill the Knights of Hell. We'd never heard of anything like the Knights of Hell or First Blade. Your dad thought he was lying, trying to save himself. We took him out, and we had a lovely weekend together. Then we went our separate ways. But I could never let the blade go. Something like that could really give a hunter an edge, you know? I looked all over the world - destroyed my knee and my life. And all I found?" as she finished the last few lines, she unlocked a square set into the wall behind her, pulling out a tray with half a dozen jars filled and stoppered, containing different kinds of liquids and powders. "A location spell for the blade that I could never finish. Couldn't find one ingredient - essence of Kraken," the heaviness and frustration in her voice weighed on them all.

"I wonder if Cas could find it?" Hermione began, not minding that Tara stood just across the counter.

"But with his wings clipped, who knows how long it could take him…" Dean rubbed the heels of his hands through his hair, bringing his arms to rest across his chest; his tell for when he had a bad idea that was going to work. "There is someone else that could probably get it though…" and he didn't need to finish for Hermione to jump on that train of thought. After a heavy moment she swore; her tell for agreeing that it was both a bad idea and their only choice.

Dean pulled his cellphone out, punched a few buttons and waited for Crowley to answer on the other end. Using as few words as possible, Dean explained they had a bead on something that might take down Abbadon and that he could pitch in. Dean made a few terse remarks, showing he was dodging some of Crowley's more sarcastic barbs. Then he clicked the phone off.

Tara jerked, grabbing her right knee sharply as Crowley appeared on the rug just behind Dean.

"Hello, lovelies. King of Hell, at your service," he purred, his eyes settling on Hermione just a moment too long. Tara took the breath and pulled a loaded shotgun from behind the desk, leveling it straight at Crowley.

"Not expecting company? I guess I can come back later," and he made a gesture with his hand that was clearly supposed to signal his departure, yet he remained rooted to the rug.

"Devil's trap under the knock off-Persian, jackass," Tara snapped, never looking away from the intruder.

"Easy Tara, he's with us," Dean said slowly. Her eyes snapped towards him.

"He's a demon," she pointed out the obvious.

"And he wants Abbadon dead as badly as we do - he might be able to help us get a lock on the First Blade," Hermione added softly. Tara looked from the young witch to the hunter.

"If your daddy could see you now…" she muttered, lowering her gun.

They quickly explained what they were up to in as few words as possible and after Tara broke the Devil's trap, he flitted off leaving them all standing on pins and needles. A few barbs tossed into the air made it clear that Tara did not hold with this plan.

After no more than a few moments, the awkward silence was broken when Crowley reappeared with a jar in his hand.

"Shall we?" he chirped.

Nearly an hour later, Hermione, Dean and Crowley begin the last part of their journey - a long drive down a long gravel road. Crowley had insisted on joining them and, considering his help so far, they begrudgingly let him settle into the backseat. Hermione could practically feel his eyes boring into the back of her skull and she did her best to ignore them.

At long last, they pulled up to a small, simple farmhouse and the three stepped from the car. Crowley stumbled in his steps, throwing his hands out to grab their shoulders urgently.

"Wait," he breathed.

"What?" Hermione snapped, shrugging off his hand irritably.

"I'm feeling something… dark," his voice actually shook.

"What, darker than you?" Hermione jabbed. It was then they noticed a figure moving, far to the left of their vision. They noticed freestanding white boxes about the height of a man, black gray clouds buzzing around them. Moving through the haze, a tall figure clad in bee keeper garb, carefully sprayed each unit with just a little smoke sedative.

"Oh, no. We need to leave here now," Crowley simpered, stepping hastily back towards the car.

"What, are you allergic to bees?" Dean chuckled.

"That's not a beekeeper," Crowley spoke slowly, over-pronouncing each syllable, "That's the father of murder," Crowley rested too-wide eyes on the figure that was steadily approaching them.

"It's Cain," Hermione said, not sounding entirely sure she believed her own answer. Research had taken her through all kinds of lore. Cain had been referred as the Father of Murder in both biblical and secular accounts of history.

"As in Cain and Abel?" Dean both sounded and looked very doubtful.

"We need to be a world away from here - from him," Crowley resumed his scramble for the car door handle but when he paused to look back at Dean and Hermione, Cain was standing inches from Dean's back.

"You're not going anywhere. Crowley," the silk and meance blended together in a voice in a way that was terrifying and sad all at the same time.

Hermione and Dean politely held the steaming hot cups of tea that Cain had brought into the little sitting room. The clatter of Crowley's cup in his shaking saucer was echoing. As Cain returned to the kitchen, Dean snapped,

"Why don't you just zap out of here?" he hissed at the demon, eyeing the tea-filled saucer. Crowley flicked his eyes around nervously and set the cup down.

"You can't zap out of here, can you?" Hermione whispered.

"Cain's doing something to me," and he seemed to be straining to get the words past his lips. Dean rolled his eyes and shifted his attention to Hermione to stop himself from decking the so called King of Hell.

"All right, so, tell me about this Cain."

"Well, aside from what is recorded in the Bible there are some rather obscure records that say after Cain killed Abel, he became a demon. Which I think we can safely say is probably true considering how old he has to be…." she eyed the back of the ancient man still busy at the counter.

"What do you mean "became a demon"?" Dean asked. It was Crowley who answered.

"He became the deadliest demon to walk the face of the earth. Killed thousands. The best at being the worst. And then he just... Disappeared. Everyone thought he was dead or, at least, hoped he was," and his voice faded as the "Father of Murder" settled in the chair across from the three of them squished on the couch.

After a few awkward attempts at small talk about bees, Cain cut right to the quick of the visit.

"So, what brings a witch, the King of Hell and a Winchester to my house?"

"You know who we are?" Dean shifted cautiously.

"I'm retired. I'm not dead. What I don't know is why you're looking for me - more importantly, how you found me," and he took a long sip from his steaming cup.

"Ah, that's, uh, a funny story, really. Bit of a misunderstanding. We really should -" Crowley sputtered, beginning to rise from the couch. Cain locked his eyes on the demon and carefully raised his finger to his lips whispering a "Shhh." Crowley gagged silently, clawing at his throat. Sinking back to the cushion, it became apparent he wouldn't be saying anything else.

"Oh, you gotta teach us that," Hermione said, clearly impressed by anyone who could shut him up. Cain smiled courteously and the locked his eyes on Dean.

"Why are you here, Dean?" Dean swallowed hard and started.

"We're looking for the weapon the archangels used to kill the Knights of Hell. The First Blade. We need it to kill a Knight of Hell - Abaddon," Hermione watched Cain absentmindedly twist a ring on his left hand.

"And how did you find me?" Cain questioned again.

"We didn't. The location spell was for the blade. One-time deal," Hermione replied.

"Anyone else know you're here?" this made everyone on the couch squirm but they stayed quiet.

"I can't help you. It's been a pleasure having company, but once a century is enough for me. You can let yourselves out," Cain made to leave the room but Dean leapt to his feet to follow.

"Hey, listen, pal. We're not leaving here without the Blade."

"You have quite a reputation, Dean. I see the part about you being brave rings true."

"Well, what can I say? I'm an all-in kind of guy. Abaddon is the last Knight of Hell, and if you're out of the game, what the hell do you care if she dies?"

"If your friend there could talk, he would tell you that I trained the Knights of Hell. I built that entire demonic order with my own hands - Abaddon included."

Cains words hung in the air like lightning and the look that Hermione shot Crowley would have withered a lesser demon.

"Well, here's something your friend doesn't know, that no one knows, in fact - outside of Abaddon. It wasn't the archangels that slaughtered the knights. It was me," they felt the thunder that always followed lightning.

"Why did you turn on your own?" Hermione asked. The storm continued in Cain's eyes.

"Again, thanks for visiting. But if you'll excuse me, I have errands to run in town. Goodbye, Dean Winchester… Hermione Granger. Never return," and suddenly the three of them dropped into the seats of the Impala. After a hurried conversation, they drove off, intent on waiting to see Cain leave so that they could get the weapon they came for.

"This is by far the dumbest idea ever," Crowley whispered hoarsely as the three of them crept into the little farmhouse. As they continued to poke around the house, Hermione checked each of the little snuff boxes on the mantle, moving the pictures to check behind them. She noticed one that didn't have the same layer of dust as the others. Flipping it around she read the name "Colette" written in a smooth hand on the base of the frame.

As Dean continued to riffle through the kitchen drawers, Hermione carefully carried the frame into the room.

"Think I figured out why he went off the reservation so many years ago," she handed Dean the photo and he politely didn't remark on how she ever so slightly staggered into the door frame.

"Who is she?"

"Cain had a similar ring on. My guess that Colette is… or was his wife." Anything else she was going to say was cut off by the resounding clang of all the locks fastening.

"He's back," Crowley whimpered. After trying the two main doors without success they turned to try the second floor and saw Cain standing in the shadows of the short hallways.

"That belongs to me," and he pulls the photograph from Dean. Before they could ask about his wedding band, about Colette, headlights flood the dark living room from the drive and threatening shouts filled the quiet night.

"I don't suppose they're with you?" Dean asked already knowing the answer.

"No." Amid the hollers and shouts from the driveway they deduced that Tara was most likely dead. The demons appealed to Cain, asking just for the mortals and the demon he was hosting. They talked of a "new master they wanted to impress" - that could only mean Abbadon.

"The whammy you put on the doors that keeps us in. Will it keep them out?" Dean asked, pulled the knife from his hip sheath.

"For now," Cain muttered as he set his shopping bag on the table, pulling out corn.

"I'm gonna barricade the entrances. Get ready for a fight," Dean grunted shifting the china cabinet in front of the kitchen door.

"Well, good luck with that," Cain smirked as he began to shuck corn.

"All right, I got this. You take the front," Dean said squaring off in the kitchen, sending Hermione to the front and Crowley to hobble in a corner.

"So, this is your play?! Corn?! What am I not getting here? I mean, it's not like you're a coward," Dean shouted.

"Since when does the great Dean Winchester ask for help? Well, that doesn't sound like the man I've read about on demon bathroom walls. Maybe you've lost a step. Let's find out," and with a snap of his fingers, Cain flung the china cabinet away from the door and two demons rushed into the kitchen. Cain smiled and motioned the demons towards Dean who grimaced, setting his feet to fight.

Moving into action, Dean landed solid punches and kicks. He took a few himself before a third demon entered to the mix and a dangerous edge came to Deans mouth. The exchange continued until, blood running down the side of his face, Dean sunk the blade into the chest of the last demon as it laid sprawled across Cain's table.

"What was that? Some kind of a test?" Dean spat at Cain, who had abandoned his corn and watched Dean with a singular intensity. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, and I don't really care. Just give me the damn blade!"

"Sorry, Dean. I have nothing to hand over."

"What?" Dean could practically feel the rug jerk out from under his feet. Hermione barged back into the kitchen, bloody angel blade in her fist.

"We need to get out of here," she breathed.

"I no longer have the blade. It's gone," Cain said and she looked dismayed, eyes flicking between the demon and the bloody hunter.

"Gone? What do you mean, "gone"? How? The spell brought us here to you, so it has to be here," Hermione said desperately.

"Your spell brought you to the source of the Blade's power. Me," Cain slowly rolled up his right shirt sleeve to reveal a nasty looking rune burned into his skin, glaring, purple and menacing. They heard Crowley whimper from the corner and despite the desperation of their situation, Hermione and Dean both stared at him obvious disgusted.

"It's the bloody mark of Cain," he breathed.

"From Lucifer himself. The mark and the blade work together. Without the mark, the blade is useless. It's just an old bone," Cain took another long drink from his beer before he continued. "Abel wasn't talking to God. He was talking to Lucifer. Lucifer was gonna make my brother into his pet. I couldn't bear to watch him be corrupted, so I offered a deal - Abel's soul in heaven for my soul in hell. Lucifer accepted... As long as I was the one who sent Abel to heaven. So, I killed him. Became a soldier of Hell - a knight."

"And Lucifer ordered you to make more?" Hermione asked.

"My knights and I, we did horrible things - for centuries. Bringers of chaos and darkness."

"Then you met Colette," Hermione connected the dots.

"She knew who I was... and what I was. She loved me unconditionally. She forgave me. She only asked for one thing. To stop. When the knights found out, they took retribution. They took Colette, so I picked the First Blade back up, and it felt so good to have it in my hands again, and I slaughtered all the Knights of Hell. Almost all of them," and he drained his drink. He painted a picture of a hundred years ago - watching a creature he created destroy the woman he loved. Feeling her die in his arms and listening to her voice beg him to stop. "So I buried her, and I walked away."

"I'm sorry - truly. But I have to stop Abaddon. So, where is the Blade?" Dean said as softly as he could, all too aware of the demon horde just yards away.

"No."

"Hey! Listen, you son of a bitch. You may be done killing, but I'm not," Dean slammed his fist on the table, glaring hotly at Cain. And before their eyes, the father of murder vanished.

Hundreds of miles away, in a small niche of trees that time had forgotten, Cain knelt by a small gravestone. Colette. And he broke.

"I've tried... I've tried, Colette, to see myself as you did... But I know who I am - _What_ I am... I know you watch over me still... But I need you to look away now…" as Cain spoke, tears leaked down his face and he rested his head on the earth before leaving the little grove empty once more.

Reappearing in the living room, eyes red, Cain stared at the bewildered hunters in the kitchen.

"I can give you the mark, Dean, if it's what you truly want," Cain said.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione stepped into the room feeling danger coil up around her ankles.

"The mark can be transferred to someone who's worthy," he replied.

"You mean a killer like you?" Dean snapped darkly.

"Yes."

"Can I use it to kill that bitch?"

"Yes. But you have to know with the mark comes a great burden. Some would call it a great cost," and the warning in Cain's eyes flared. Hermione stepped between them as Dean moved quickly toward Cain. Dean stared at her bewildered.

"Hermione?" Dean stared at her.

"Dean - listen to him," she urged, just as the demons started in shouting louder than before.

"Do we really have time for this?" he probed.

"Dean… this can't be a run of the mill mark. To kill a Knight created by Cain. A Mark from Lucifer himself. There's got to be more to this," she turned to look imploringly at Cain.

"Hermione, we can deal with it like we always do once the bitch is dead. Besides, I don't think these walls are going to hold long enough for the skull session," and a huge blast caused the windows in the living room to splinter like a crystal web. Despite her best judgement, she stepped back. Cain extended his arm and Dean grasped his forearm, staring ahead stoically.

"Good luck, Dean. You're gonna to need it," was all Cain said before a red light haloed Dean and he arched, gritting his teeth. Blue lightning raced down Cain's arm and funneled through the veins in Dean's hand, climbing up to the hinge of his arm. Just below his elbow, in the soft skin of the forearm, the mark burned and glowed against Dean's flesh.

"Now where is the blade?" Crowley snapped, suddenly much steadier on his feet.

"Nothing can destroy the Blade, so I threw it to the bottom of the deepest ocean. It's the only way I could keep my promise to Colette. You find the blade, kill Abaddon, but make me a promise first. When I call you - and I _will_ call - you come find me and use the Blade on me," Cain locked eyes with Dean.

"Why?"

"For what I'm about to do." With that the three of them once again wound up in the car as the demons finally broke through the door of the farmhouse. After a few seconds, every demon had poured in on Cain and that's when they heard the locks fasten again and a red glow started to build in the house. The shouts and slurs of the demons quickly changed to frantic screams.

Not needing another invitation, Dean slammed the car into drive and peeled out of the driveway, leaving the demons to face Cain.

Miles passed before Hermione broke the silence.

"Crowley- why didn't you tell us?"

"Well - how was I supposed to know that was going to happen?" he mewled innocently.

"Before that. You knew. You knew about the mark. You knew about Abaddon and Cain. You knew all of it. And you played us. Why?" She shot venomously at Crowley.

"He would never have given me the Blade. And who can say no to this hunk here? I needed you both to play along." Back and forth they went, realizing that everything - from Tara's attack to the fight had been set up.

"Just so you know… After I kill Abaddon... you're next," Dean said with soft lethality.

"But first you need the Blade," and with that the back seat was empty.

More miles passed before Hermione broke the silence, having given careful thought to what she said next.

"Dean - what happens once we kill Abbadon? You're still going to be bearing that Mark," she chose not to push it further than that.

"I know - but I'm not Cain. Who's to say it will do the same thing?" the feeble hope was just audible in his voice and Hermione kept her mouth shut. Unfortunately, it was at this moment that the dull ache behind her ears that had been buzzing for days spiked. She shrieked in pain, clasping her hands over her ears, cringing in pain.

"Hermione? Hermione?!" and she stayed buckled over, small tears pouring down her face, pushing on her head so hard her hands started to shake. Dean slammed his foot down.


	48. Chapter 48

Dean drove through the night, never letting up on the speed. Hermione went from screaming, clasping her head like it was going to split open to sitting with unfocused eyes, rocking back and forth. All the while tears streamed down her face.

"Hermione?! Hermione?! Talk to me, dammit!" It she couldn't hear him. Suddenly she started to mumble halfway through this horror show and the only word he could work out was "angel".

This only made him drive faster. They were still a few hours out from the bunker.

He had called Sam- only to find out he was in Wisconsin with Ron. Apparently something had flagged on the wires that sounded an awful lot like Garth. It had been more than 6 months since he had dropped off the grid leaving all the hunters that counted on him high and dry. Sam explained a story that Dean had a very hard time comprehending - something about werewolves and Garth. It didn't matter - Dean hurriedly filled him in on what was happening to Hermione.

"We're on our way," Sam said and clicked his phone off.

Hours later, the gravel flew as Dean jerked the Impala into the garage. Hermione didn't seem to register a change in her surroundings - she made no move to leave the car. Dean moved to the other side of the car. He'd seen plenty of bad mojo that made touching or moving some one a very bad idea but he didn't really see another option. Bending down, he gathered the small witch into his arms. She was light - too light and burning hot. And the physical contact seemed to be the tipping point - her eyes started to roll back in her head and her breathing became rapid and shallow.

Running into the kitchen, he shouted, "CAS!"

Dean heard measured footsteps start in the atrium and then break into a flat out run as Cas sensed what was happening in the kitchen. Spinning on the annoyingly clean tile, he stared down at Hermione laying on the stainless steel counter. Her eyes continued to flutter and sweat poured down her skin. A faint yellow glow burned from her fingertips.

"What happened?" he growled, eyeing Dean with a predator's eyes. Skimming as quickly as he could over the parts he knew he'd hear about later, he skipped to the car ride home when all this started.

"Was there any sign that something was wrong?" Cas asked running the flat of his hands over her head and heart. Dean focused - stumbling into the chair in the library, falling into the wall at Cains.

"She seemed a little - unbalanced. Small things, like she would lose focus for a moment or get caught off balance. I figured resurrection might have some side effects," he said as he pulled off her shoes and her jacket trying to get her skin onto the cold countertop. He'd never forgive himself if he'd watched her die for the last three days ad been stupid enough to ignore it.

Cas continued scanning her body then his eyes and hands stopped, hovering just over her belly button. He stared hard, looking confused and then all the color drained from his face and his eyes widen dramatically.

"What? What?!" Dean shouted trying to get the angel's attention.

"There's something- I can't… It… it looks like Enochian but I can't read it," he stuttered.

"Where?" Dean scanned the skin on Hermione's stomach seeing nothing but sweat and the scars from Bellatrix's torture.

"It's spreading from the base of her spine - carving into her bones. It must be incredibly painful. It's moving down her legs and it just hit her shoulders," he continued to pass his hands across her body, like he was reading a map. Pressing down on her forearms, he flooded her with power and the markings glared through her skin like a xray. Dean jerked the pad on the fridge down and frantically started copying the symbols until Cas sagged under the strain of the power surge and let go.

In the few moments the angelic grace had poured through her, her breathing had normalized and the glow under her skin dimmed. Her eyes stilled and she seemed to be sleeping, although they both knew better than to try and wake her. This wasn't sleeping - this was grasping to life.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Cas swept her into her room, away from the noise and bustle breaking out in the rest of the bunker. He set up a silent vigil next to her bed as he watched the symbols continue to etch into her skeleton. Judging by their rate, it had been happening for nearly a week and would last another 2 or 3 days. He didn't know what would happen when it was over. Every so often he would channel as much power as he had into her body to keep the glowing and the temperature down - it seemed to help.

Meanwhile, Dean had filled Harry and Ginny in on what was happening and they began ripping the bunker apart, trying to find anything that looked like the markings burning up the young witch. As watery light started to pour through the high sun roofs in the atrium, Dean grabbed his phone, wondering where the hell Sam and Ron were?

"Hey Dean," Sam sounded like it had been a very long night. He quickly explained something else about Raganorok and Garth and a pack - Dean comprehended very little.

"Where are you?" he sighed when his brother stopped talking.

"Just outside of Wisconsin."

"Too far. Tell Ron to apparate you guys back here. We need help," Dean said.

A few seconds later the familiar crack sounded through the bunker and Ron and Sam came running into the library, covered in mud and blood. They looked at the tables covered in books and boxes and files. They stared confused at the three sleep deprived, terrified bodies milling through the paperwork.

Dean quickly filled them inband they dove into the mix, combing through every piece of paper in that building.

It was hours later, as Sam was pouring through one of the rooms full of yellowing files and dusty hexed boxes that a thought struck him.

"It looks like Enochian…. But I can't read it." Those had been Cas' words. Maybe…

Sam moved to the back of the room and started moving the jinx boxes around, looking for a an old one with green and gold warding all over it. He jerked it off the shelf, cutting his finger on the corner intentionally as he did so. Wiping the blood across the line of runes on the top, the etch work glowed brightly and was followed by a series and clicks and snaps. The lid of the box popped open and inside the angel tablet burned like a star.

Far away in the dim little bedroom, a heart-rending scream tore through every soul there. Sam snatched the old rock up in both hands and bolted through the halls. Slamming his body through the dark wooden door, he nearly dropped the tablet when he saw Hermione arched in the bed, screaming like she was burning. Cas was pouring as much power as he could into her; his head sagged against the headboard and his arms shook. It didn't seem to be doing anything to help her.

Sam watched the symbols glow through her skin all their own- the rate had accelerated tenfold and the tips of her fingers and toes as well as her sockets glared as the inscription finished. And still she screamed.

Remembering himself as Dean and Ron slammed through the door behind him, Sam threw himself across the room and pressed the tablet against her body. Every symbol burned into her flared from yellow-orange to a blinding white light, filling the room. They covered their eyes, turning away from the brilliant flash of raw power.

And in a breath it stopped. Looking back towards the bed, they fully expected to see her body burned up, laying with lifeless eyes. Instead, she was sitting there peacefully, looking like she had just slept well after a long shower. The only anomaly was the white power, admittedly tampered, still pouring brilliantly from her eyes.

Cas was the first to speak - he looked like he'd gone nine rounds with Satan himself and his voice broke like he'd been screaming.

"Hermione?" he asked, terrified. The symbols on her bones now looked painfully familiar - so similar to the scrapes in the stone she carried. The Angel Tablet had once saved him and it had now obviously saved her - but how?

"Castiel," her voice came, deep and multifaceted like she was pulling from wells of power she'd never touched and didn't know how to control. As soon as she spoke, her eyelids drooped and her body lilted back onto the bed like a falling snowflake. Cas laid his forehead against shoulder, fingers looped through her hair and hands. And he stayed that way for a long time.

Hermione slept the rest of that day. She was the first one awake the following morning. After a combination of coffee and liquor, everyone else had muddled through the day in a bit of a stupor before passing out and sleeping through the night. Castiel, who didn't really sleep, was still incredibly drained from purging that much power from his borrowed Grace. His head was slumped onto his chest, when the small figure on the bed started to rouse.

She looked painfully normal - like the last week hadn't happened. It was the little witch he'd fallen for all those years ago. But when her deep brown eyes met his, there was a distance that hadn't been there before.

"Hey," he mumbled, coming to sit on the edge of the bed quickly.

"Hey," she mumbled back, her voice all her own. A little shaky, she sat up, eyes wary like she was a house of cards that would collapse at any moment.

"How long have I been…"

"Only about a day," he finished and she nodded. Still looking experimental, she turned toward the wall and gingerly slid her legs from the covers and pressed her feet against the floor. Pausing a moment, she slowly stood up with ease and grace, almost like she were a puppet on strings. Absentmindedly, she squeezed down on the angel tablet in her arms, cradling it like a loved book.

"This feels…" she muttered, looking at her arms and hands like they didn't belong to her, not mentioning the angel tablet she couldn't seem to let go of. Closing her eyes and bowing her head she took a deep breath before setting her shoulders and walking to where her slippers rested.

Cas watched her back the whole time, aching to reach out for her, to say something but not knowing his place. She made for the door and froze. Turning back to look at her angel, she still looked nervous but she reached out her hand and he gratefully laced his fingers into hers, pulling her as close to him as he could as they walked into the hallway. With his fingers laced through hers, a strum echoed through his body - it sounded like home.

Somethings never change and Hermione, seeing that she was the first in the kitchen, began gathering pots and pans and eggs. Castiel noticed that the angel tablet stayed nestled between the stove and the fridge, where Hermione could brush her fingers across it every so often as she passed by it. He jumped in, whistling songs he knew she loved with clarity and tune that only an angel could manage. She smiled and they moved about like it was a normal… well, normal-in-the-bunker kind of day.

Ginny was the first one to enter the kitchen and she stopped dead when she saw Hermione buttering and stacking toast. She understood what had happened; what they all talked about. But her life hadn't been pulled as far into this mess as theirs and for her, this was a wonderful moment when she watched one of her dearest friends look whole and healthy.

"Morning," Hermione said, smiling and extending a cup of coffee towards Ginny. She smiled and reached from the cup. The tips of her fingers brushed against Hermione's hand as she grasped the mug. It felt different - not the soft warmth of human skin but a sizzling electric feeling like lightning in a bolt. It surprised her and she accidentally jerked, sending the mug of coffee crashing to the tile.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Ginny muttered, embarrassed that she'd let the unusual touch throw her that much. Hermione came beside her, helping her clean up the glass and liquid.

"No - I'm sorry. I can't seem to… to keep it from," Hermione was embarrassed that she startled her friend. Cas didn't seem to notice the energy surge she felt slicing under her skin but she hadn't thought about how a human might react to it. She should have known better- at least until she had it better under control.

"It's fine. I'm fine. It just startled me really," Ginny said.

The others filtered into the kitchen and Hermione acted as normally as she could, feeling incredibly out of place in her own skin. She made sure to keep the counter between herself and anyone who entered, sliding coffee and milk across as soon she heard footsteps. As the food was ready, Cas carried it to the table while she busied herself with something on the stove or in the fridge.

Dean was the last to enter and his face lit up when he saw Hermione standing at the stove. His long legs closed the distance between them before she realized it and he was inches from wrapping his arms around her from behind when she felt him. Too late to move, she closed her eyes and steeled herself.

As the oldest brother closed his arms around her, he felt it - that thrum of power swirling under every inch of her skin. He also felt all her muscles tense, waiting for him to flinch away from her. He set his jaw and squeezed harder, ignoring the fire on his skin.

She relaxed and turned in his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder and breathing in the smell of whisky, grateful he didn't flinch away from her.

As they ate breakfast, they talked - more than they had in a long time. Good food can sometimes have a cathartic effect like that.

Sam told them about Garth. He had been bitten on a hunt and turned werewolf. But the big news was he had gotten married - to another werewolf. His pack was led by a wolf that advocated peace with humans but it turned out that some of his followers had other ideas. Thus the blood and mud they'd turned up in.

They exhausted all other possible conversation topics before brooching the subject none of them had stopped thinking about. Empty plates and cooling cups of coffee dotted the table and Dean started to talk about the last few days. He was careful and thorough in the retelling, dreading coming to the end at Cain's house.

"And that's when Cain told me that for the Blade to work, we would need the Mark," Dean took a long drink from his mug.

"The what?" Sam said, eyes narrowed. Dean set his cup down and twisted the sleeve up and over his right elbow, revealing the mark that still looked like a nasty wound on his flesh. Sam's eyes went from narrow to impossibly wide.

"What the?" Ron sat up straighter, staring at the glaring mark. He wasn't the only one - Hermione's eyes narrowed and her body went still.

"I still don't think that was a good idea. We have no idea what it means or what it can do. The only thing we do know is that Cain got it… from Lucifer," she had opened the door that Dean had sincerely hoped she'd leave closed. The protest started all at the same time.

Ginny spit the orange juice she was drinking out all over the table.

"Lucifer?! Lucifer?!" Sam said, sliding straight up in his chair.

"The Devil? The actual Devil?" Harry gasped.

"Dean," came the soft growl of Castiel's deep voice.

"Listen… Listen!" Dean shouted to hush them up. "We need Abbadon dead. This was a means to an end- nothing else."

"The end doesn't justify the means," Sam quipped. "You have no idea what that…"

"I know," Dean cut him off with a knowing glare. Sam stopped mid word, his jaw tightening as he folded his hands tightly, pupils dilating.

"So then…" Harry started, eager to break this tense silence. Hermione shot him a withering look of her own.

Dean again filled in the missing information, ending with the breakfast they were all sitting down to.

"So you're a prophet now?" Sam ventured.

"No - she isn't a prophet. Prophets aren't with the Word of God," Castiel corrected.

"So what am I?" she asked.

"I don't know," he looked back her, heaviness in voice and in his eyes.

As they cleaned up the breakfast dishes, everyone seemed quiet about what to do next, filling the time with small stories and random jokes. Once the kitchen was cleaner than it had been in a long time, the group migrated through the rest of the bunker, carefully erasing the memories of the last few days. Hours later, all the files were resorted and books reshelved. Books and bins were stowed. New books and files and boxes were added to the ones they had already collected about Abbadon.

The rays of the sun painted the passing of the day on the walls of the library as it glowed in through the sunlights. Sam and Harry each sat at a dark oiled wooden table behind the glowing screen of a computer. They followed this link and read that article, checking familiar websites and radars. Dean sat across from Sam, hip deep in a series of old anthologies on ancient demons and demonic warfare, scraps of notes and sticky notes spread out from him. Ron and Ginny filled the other end of Harry's table. They were flipping through a seemingly endless stack of files, searching for any trace of anything that might be a connection to something they could use. Castiel and Hermione sat close together at another table. Castiel alternated between sitting perfectly still, eyes closed, listening to angel radio and reading through thick volumes written in strange languages. Hermione had her feet propped in his lap, eyes gently closed, listening to cassette tapes filled with memoirs and dialogues from the lost Men of Letters. Her fingers played over the surface of the Angel Tablet she hadn't parted with, nails tracing the small grooves and niches of the stone.

So this day passed and several more followed. Together they waged war on the lore holed up in the bunker determined to find something that would end their pursuit for the Knight of Hell. Words that needed to be said were left unspoken; between Sam and Ron, between Hermione and Castiel. Despite the pressure of the coming storm from the demon they hunted, other doors wouldn't stay closed for long. After several days, that familiar frustrated tension started to rise and Dean jumped on the first case he could snatch up - something in Stillwater Minnesota about a man who, an hour before his death have been almost 200 pounds heavier than they found his corpse.

Sam offered to come with him. Despite himself, Dean still felt like he and Sam were responsible for watching over the others. He shook his head, trying to convince Sam he'd be fine. Quickly picking up on the cue, Harry and Ginny offered to tag along as back up. Ginny hadn't been on many hunts and this sounded pretty kosher.

Before leaving, Dean knocked on the bathroom door where Hermione had been for the last twenty minutes. She came to the door quickly.

"Hey, kid, we're heading out. I just wanted to see how you were doing?' he asked, brows pulled together as he looked down at her. She seemed too insubstantial; like a strong wind would dissipate the clouds holding her together and they would lose her. When she looked up at him, a forced mask of nonchalance on her face, he couldn't help but stare at the spirals that seem to spin from the bottoms of her eyes. A blink later and they were gone and he shook his head, wondering if he had imagined it.

"I'm doing…" and the lie died on her lips "I'm here. I'm not sure how I'm doing. I kind of feel like a mirror that has been shattered and then fixed with diamonds. Does that make any sense?" she asked, looking up at him, hopeful.

Truth be told, Dean hadn't felt right since their dance with Cain. He was more on edge than he'd ever felt in his life. He was jumpy and itching to shoot something. But it was probably just being cooped up in this hole for too long. Besides, he didn't want to start something where there wasn't anything.

He nodded, not sure what to say because on top of this worry that he kept buried was guilt. Guilt that he should have noticed how strange she'd been acting and done something to protect her.

"Stop it," she snapped, whacking his chest with the back of her hand.

"What?"

"I know that look. I wear that look. That's the "This is my fault and now I must silently bear the burden of your suffering." You had no part in this - we don't even know what this is. And if you hadn't been there…" Dean jerked her into a hard one armed hug, trying desperately not to replay all the times he'd watched her almost die in his mind.

"Be careful," she mumbled, face buried in his flannel.

"You too," he kissed the top of her head, rubbed her shoulder and turned, heading to the car.

Hours later, Sam walked through the kitchen, gathering his ingredients for a smoothie. As he fired up the blender, the lights in the kitchen flickered. Anyone else would had shrugged it off but Sam stopped cold, literally - he watched his next breath crystallize in the air.

A mop of red hair ambled into the kitchen. The lights continued to flicker. Sam pawed under the counter, pulling up a salt-filled shotgun. The two slowly spun on the spot, waiting. Yards behind Ron, Sam saw a gray and white shape start to materialize and he fired the gun right over his friend's shoulder.

"So…" Ron started.

"Yep. Bunker's haunted," and Sam started to make his way towards the library, gun still in hand.

"How is this possible? I thought you said this was the safest place on the planet?" Ron asked, going to the shelf under the gilded letter G and jerking a book down.

"Look, the bunker is warded and sigiled from top to bottom. If something got in, someone or something _let_ it in," Sam said and it made both of them swallow.

"What would be strong enough to?" Ron asked. The most recent events continued to trickle into his mind and the word _Prophet_ kept jumping in front of his thoughts. Apparently, he wasn't the only one thinking it because he sand Sam turned to look at one another, saying, "Kevin."

"We never did get his body back…." Sam muttered.

"I just assumed it burned up - you heard that half that hospital burnt down the day we split," Ron said.

"Still, even if he did burn, we cremated Bobby, too, and he came back," Sam pointed out.

As they sat in the library, a buzzing started in the kitchen, steadily getting louder. They both ran toward the sound only to find the coffee pot going crazy. Sam approached it cautiously and said, "Kevin?" His response came as the mug next to the pot shattered.

"O-kay," Ron sighed.

Just then, Castiel came striding into the kitchen.

"Somethings happened… an angel named Rebecca… Someone keeps calling to me. I'm going to go check it out," he said quickly. Harry and Sam just stared at him.

"Cas… Seriously?" Sam said with scrunched eyes.

"What?" Cas asked, confused. Seconds later, Hermione came into the kitchen carrying a brown backpack wearing jeans and laced up hiking boots with her curly hair thatched into a bun.

"Hey, hey, hey," Ron said, quickly connecting the dots.

"I'm fine," she said smiling. She walked up next to Castiel, leaning into his arm and lacing her fingers through his the way she'd done 1,000 times. "Besides, I'll be with Cas."

Sam could think of several examples of why this was still a bad idea but the pleading look on Castiel's face shut him up. Whether Castiel was desperate to follow this angel trail or to restore Hermione Sam didn't know and he didn't ask.

"This is the first sign of anything in months. And it is less than a day's drive away," Castiel added, seeing that Sam stopped himself.

"Take the tan car at the end of the garage… key's are in the drawer," Sam said and Cas nodded, striding to the kitchen.

"This seems like a bad idea," Ron said, watching the angel go.

Castiel walked cautiously through the graveyard. He'd convinced Hermione to wait a few dozen yards away, sure that the angel he could feel would flee if they saw that he wasn't alone.

Fresh earth and flowers showed where a recently interred body lay. He could feel the angel nearby but it was like he was hiding. Turning from one stone to another, weaving between the trees, he could feel him closer and closer until…

Turning around another tree, he slammed his forearm across the chest of a middle aged man with a short beard and sad eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Cas growled with more venom than he meant to.

"'Please, she was my friend!" the man whispered, eyeing the fresh dirt a few yards from them.

"Who? The dead human or the angel who was killed while possessing her?"

"The angel. Rebecca," he sighed.

That had been the angel calling to him.

"Rebecca had a lot of friends. Friends like Metatron. Where is he?!" and Castiel pushed harder against the angels vessel.

"You're looking in the wrong place. Rebecca and Metatron were friends. That was a long time ago. Had no contact since the fall. Naomi, Metatron, heavenly battles, politics - she gave it up. All of it. Rebecca taught us the angels have lost touch with our true mission," he said quickly. Cas' eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean by "us"?"

"The penitents. Her followers," he lowered his eyes.

"Another faction," Castiel had heard the non-stop chatter since his Grace had returned but there had been - bigger issues. His ears could hear the soft ruffle of Hermione slowly approaching, set off by the sharp spike in his voice no doubt. Silently he chastised himself.

Since Metatron had used his Grace to purge heaven, angels began warring in factions. Unable to fly and barred from heaven, they were disconnected and frantic. And they were followers by nature - most of them. There had been those that had seen the chance and acted quickly, pulling angels to them like moths to a flame. And these factions were ripping each other apart, each trying to grab just a little more power.

"Not like the others!" the man said quickly. "We don't make war. We live humbly among these humans. Or we did. He killed all the others. And he killed her," the sadness grew darker in the man.

"Who did?"

"Who else? The monster. Bartholomew," the angel spat the word like venom. The angel let his eyes wander behind Castiel and then he began to struggle. Cas' throat tightened, convinced he was trying to get to Hermione. He didn't see the two strangers quickly approaching, thin silver blades glinting in the sunlight.

But Hermione had seen them and she tore through the cemetery, wand raised. Silver bolts flew from the tip, hitting each angel squarely in the head. She knew it wouldn't do more than slow them down but she just needed enough time to get to Castiel.

"AHHHHH!" the yell of pain from the first angel hit caused Castiel to release the angel he'd been interrogating and spin around. He was just in time to see two infuriated angels regain their footing before Hermione closed the last few steps between the two of them, grabbed his and hand and vanished them into thin air with a loud crack.

Ron was sitting in the library, taking notes as he was reading. Sam walked back into the library slowly, the EMF detector in his hand blinking consistently.

"It flickers between strong and weak with no pattern on location," Sam muttered as the detector suddenly silenced. As they both heaved a deep sigh, the lights flickered again.

"Kevin?!" Sam shouted. In the distance between Ron and Sam, the same shape as before started to materialize. Painfully slow, the shape took form until a nearly corporeal Kevin stood between them looking haggard but triumphant.

"Kevin?" Ron stuttered.

"You can see me?" Kevin said looking shocked and he flickered.

"Hey, take it easy, Kevin. You might not hold this form for too long, okay? I-it takes a while," Sam said, standing to approach him.

"Then we should talk fast," Kevin started.

"Wait, wait, wait. Why aren't you in - in heaven? I mean, if anybody deserves an express pass to paradise -" Ron started looking confused.

"I couldn't. I can't. No one can. Heaven's closed for business. Everyone who's died since the angels fell are just stuck inside the veil, waiting. And it's bad in here. Like DMV-line-times-infinity bad," Kevin said quickly.

"Okay - what can we do?" Ron said, eager to help in anyway he can, still feeling the sharp slice of guilt staring at the too pale skin of the friend he'd seen die.

"I need a favor - big one," Kevin said.

"Okay."

"Find my mother," he said solidly.

"Kevin..." Sam started, "Crowley only told you she was alive to mess with you."

"I'm not going off his word. All right?" Kevin snapped, flickering for a moment again. Once her was solid again, he started to explain. "I have my own sources. It's crowded in the veil. All of us are stuck near the sites of our deaths. But I've been able to pass messages spirit to spirit. I made contact with another new arrival. She said she saw my mom just a week ago, alive."

"Okay, this - this spirit that you're playing ghost telephone with, I mean, what do you even know about her?" Sam's default to doubt kicked in.

"Her name's Candy. Says she's in a forest in Wichita."

"Candy?" Ron interjected, unable to stop himself. Kevin turned and let his eyes rest on Ron.

"So that's it? That's all you got?" Sam said.

"Long-distance communication within the veil - it's not ideal. That's why I need you to go there, summon her, see what else she knows. Please?" With that, Kevin flickered again and then quickly faded.

"Looks like we're headed to Wichita," Sam said.

Darkness cloaked the world around them as a small blue mustang peeled through the little highway, shaggy brown hair and tousled red scarlet hair fluttering in the wind of the cracked windows.

Reaching their destination quickly, they parked the car, gathered their gear, and started the hike to the train tracks where Candy died. It was quiet as they walked, the crunch of their feet over forest brush echoing loud.

Ron wanted to say… something. But he couldn't think of what to say. Sam, meanwhile, was working hard to check his temper.

Since Sam had been himself, he'd carefully avoid being alone with Ron. Even as they had tried to figure out what was haunting the bunker, Sam had spent as little time with him as possible.

"Sam…" Ron finally started, desperate to say something. "I just wanted you to know that I never meant for… any of that to happen. I just wanted to help," it sound pathetic even to him. Sam grimaced in the way he did whenever he was close to losing the leash on his temper.

"I can never…" Ron started again.

"You're damn right!" Sam said, snapping. The last few days, the stress of their pursuit, the bite of the deep night coalesced and everything Sam had been clamping down burst out. He turned, squaring himself off against the young man, inches from his face. "You can never understand And you can never fix this. I remember - everything. Every innocent that died under my hands. Every horrible thing that Gadreel… that I…" Sam stopped, running his hands over his face, dragging them through his hair.

"I know," was all Ron said.

"I know that you want some kind of.. Of spell to make this alright. Or maybe you want me to deck you like I did Cas - like Dean did with you. But it doesn't work that way. Cas and I have years of history and he doesn't think like a… person. You come in and you should have known better and you have no right… no right!" Sam's voice had risen to an echoing crescendo as he vented his frustrations.

"I know," Ron repeated, quieter than he meant to.

Despite his anger pulsing under his skin- despite how justified he felt his anger was, for a moment, Sam saw himself 5 years ago. He'd betrayed Dean, trusted Ruby, resurrected Lucifer. It had taken work but Dean had trusted him again.

Maybe he owed Ron… maybe not. He wasn't sure. He heaved a deep sigh, spun around and continued their trek through the forest. In a few moments, he heard Ron start to follow him. After a few minutes, the trestle for the train tracks started to come in sight.

"All right, that's the trestle. Candy said her spirit was stuck nearby," Sam said, dropping his bag near the tracks.

"She died here?" Ron asked.

"Yeah."

"That's so sad… and lonely," Ron said absentmindedly as they went about getting out EMF detectors. They also pulled out an old radio and the coffee pot that Kevin had first used to contact them, setting them up around the sight. After all, she'd only been dead a week. She was going to need some help bridging the gap.


	49. Chapter 49

"How are they doing this?" Hermione breathed as she and Castiel walked briskly, hand in hand, down a crowded street. Less than a block behind them, two crisply dressed strangers followed them. Hermione could practically feel their eyes boring into the back of her skull. Since they were angels, she wasn't entirely sure there wouldn't be burn marks there when she checked later.

"I'm not sure. Without being in heaven, I don't know how they're tracking us. Maybe some spell that I am not familiar with," he murmured, pulling Hermione around yet another corner, trying to shake their trackers. Three more steps and Hermione pulled him into an alley off the busy street. Men and women bustled by too busy to notice the loud crack that left the little alleyway empty once more.

Turning the corner and scanning the street, the two pursuers grimaced in frustration. Pressing his fingertips to the bit of plastic in his ear, one of them spoke.

"They've apparated again."

The night leaked passed as they sat, waiting for Candy to reach across from the void. Ron was turning and twisting the dials on the radio, trying to catch any sign of their ghost.

"You feel that? I think I felt a chill," Sam said, shifting where he sat. Ron looked around but didn't say anything.

Suddenly the radio in his hand blared a woman's panicked voice.

"Hello? Where am I? I don't know where I am?" Ron froze, holding the radio very still.

"Candy? Are - are you there? Is that you, Candy?" Ron shouted at the old radio.

"Hello? Hello?" her voice came in stronger and more clear as Ron fiddled with the dials just a bit more.

"There. There. There. Stop. Stop. Stop. Candy?" Sam shouted when her voice was crystal clear.

"...in the box. They put me in the box. All of us in boxes, side by side. Me, Jerome, Linda," she was sobbing as she talked. They kept their questions short and specific. Her voice faded in and out but they pieced together that the three captives were most likely being held in a storage facility by Crowley and a few of his cronies. But Crowley had stopped showing up and they'd been left to the flunkies. Finally, Candy's voice gave out and nothing but static came from the radio. They quickly packed up the gear and headed toward the car.

Once they were on the road, Ron behind the wheel, Sam pulled out his laptop to do some research.

"Okay, there are three storage facilities nearby. The closest one is about a mile up the road. Oh, and I, uh - I dug up some stuff on Candy. Turns out she was the kept woman of a powerful Congressman. Gossip blog said he worshiped the ground she walked on, literally. He, uh - had a foot fetish," Sam said chuckling.

"So, Crowley was holding the beloved tootsies of a powerful politician and the beloved mother of a powerful Prophet," Ron summarized.

"Human leverage. But why kill Candy?" Sam scrunched his eyebrows.

"Well, you heard her. She tried to make a break for it. Maybe Crowley wanted to make an example?" Ron suggested.

"No. No. The guy left in charge. Crowley wanted the victims alive," Sam corrected.

"But Crowley's the one who put them in the cells in the first place," Ron added.

Despite the early hour, Ron and Sam threw on their fed suits and started working their way through the three 24 hour storage facilities not far from where they'd made contact with Candy.

They'd struck out at the first two and were beginning to have doubts about their theory as they entered the third and a clerk comically similar to the clerks at the last two places came into the room at the ding of the door bell.

"Can I help you?" he squeaked.

"Yeah, hi. Agents Nicks and McVie. Need to take a look at your, uh, rental records," Sam started, flipping his fake badge open as Ron followed suit, a little less smooth.

"Uh, my manager's not here. I really don't think I should -" and his voice cracked as he finished, eyes shifting about.

"Just get the records please," Sam cut over sternly. The clerk, whose name tag read Del, looked nervous and sweaty.

"Barry! Bring out the rental binder!" he hollered over his shoulder. Another man that again looked strikingly similar to the pale, short, bespectacled men they'd been dealing with all morning appeared holding a large inder in his hands. He clunked it down on counter and Ron pulled it towards them. He started flipping through the pages while Sam studied a map on the wall.

"Hey. Okay, check it out. Corridor "Q." Three adjacent units separate from the others. I mean, Candy said there were three hostages, right?" Sam muttered as Ron ambled over, trying to look casual, while still cradling the binder.

"Yeah," he murmured as he thumbed through the pages until he found the record for those units. "Okay. It's all leased by the same guy - a D. Webster."

"You guys say "D. Webster"?" Dell chirped.

"Yeah. Yeah, you - you seen him?" Ron said, twisting around to look at the speaker.

"Uh, no, just... I know his name from the records. He's leasing another unit on the other side of the facility. I could show you," he offered.

"Yeah. That'd be great," Sam said, and he whispered to Ron. "You head with Del and I will check out this corridor." Ron nodded in understanding, set the binder down and made to follow the young man.

The other clerk quietly disappeared into the back room as soon as he was left alone with Sam. Quickly scanning for any cameras, Sam made his way through the doorway leading towards the corridor in question.

He soon came upon three storage units positioned away from the others, set in the cold cinder block walls. Deciding to start with the unit furthest from the office, he deftly popped the small lock on the last storage unit in the trio.

The door rattled its way up, spilling weak light into the completely dark, empty little room. At least, Sam thought it was empty until he saw a huddle, shrinking mass on the floor. The trim black hair and small, strong hands quickly affirmed Sam's suspicions.

"Ms. Tran! Ms. Tran! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey, it's me. It's Sam. It's Sam," he muttered softly as he quickly made his way towards her and set about working to open the manacles fastened around her wrists and ankles.

"Sam?" she stared at him like he was a ghost of dreams she'd forgotten amidst the nightmares she couldn't escape. The look in her eyes silenced him as he continued to release her.

"Sam? We have to get out of here before it comes back. Is Kevin with you?" she asked, the hope thick in her voice. Sam felt like he couldn't breath; he couldn't explain what had happened to Kevin right now - he needed to get her out of here. As he came to the last cuff around her ankle, the metal door behind them quickly shuttered down, trapping them in the darkness.

Meanwhile, Ron was on edge as he entered the other storage unit that was supposedly rented by Crowley. Upon first entering, it looked far too typical to be the stash of the King of Hell.

Maybe that was the best way to hide something, Ron thought. So he continued to look through the shelves and papers around him. However, he continued to find nothing more than outdated paperwork belonging to a Bob Gunderson and odds and ends that might be the debris of a middle aged mans' life.

"This isn't Crowley's unit," Ron finally muttered, turning back towards his guide. He met eyes with Del just in time to see him swing the heavy end of a knife at Ron's head. It was the last thing he saw before everything faded to black.

"Okay, I don't see anything here," Hermione said quickly, eyeing the busy department store they were standing in. For the last few hours they'd apparated across 5 states trying to shake the angelic trail that seemed to be following them. Always opting for the safety of large crowds, nevertheless, they'd been found each time. The last time, they'd only spotted the angel a few dozen feet away and had made a hasty apparation from the shoe department.

Hermione was starting to tire from the constant magical drain. Her hand shook as it gripped her wand so hard that the small leaf reliefs across the shaft imprinted into her skin. They couldn't figure out how they were tracking them. Too afraid to return to the bunker and lead their enemies straight there, they'd continue to bounce from place to place. At this point, they weren't sure if the angels were working for Bartholomew, a faction leader that Castiel knew had gained a massive following or for Metatron.

But that didn't matter because they knew regardless of who they worked for, they weren't here to catch up on the weather. Several times, they'd caught the shimmering glint of celestial steel before they'd made their getaway.

Too busy still trying to work out all the missing details, neither of them noticed the little girl make her way to the display of purses behind Hermione. They didn't notice her turn towards them and twist her wrist in that painfully familiar way. It wasn't until Hermione felt the cold pressure of the angel blade pressed into her lower back that they realized they'd been caught.

"Gotcha," the little girl said in a sickly sweet voice that remind Hermione darkly of pink sweaters and kitten plates.

As Ron came to, he realized that his hands were bound. Struggling to sit up quickly, his left foot slipped in something slick. Gathering his bearings, he looked down and saw the other clerk, Barry, lying prone on the floor, thick red blood dribbling from a deep gash in his throat.

After mastering his own bodily reactions to the sight, Ron realized that he heard someone talking. Del stepped into his line of vision and he realized the small little man was muttering to himself.

"Trust me," he says. "You definitely want to be a part of this - "a chance to get in on the ground floor of my operation, "a real learning experience. Consider it a stepping stone, my lad - like an internship." Should've known. Internships suck." Del noticed that Ron had regained consciousness but continued to muddle about with the bowl that he was holding which seemed to be nearly filled with what Ron could only assume was his poor coworkers blood.

Looking for a way to work his hands free of the binding behind him, Ron started talking.

"So, you're the one. You're the one who Crowley left in charge?" Ron ventured.

Del stopped what he was doing with the bowl and seemed to take a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking. His voice was dripping with sarcasm when he did.

"Yeah. What a privilege. Feeding the apes, hosing the floors, washing out the honey buckets, and for zero credit. The boss, M.I.A. Too important to show for work, to even return my calls. And you know the worst part? I wasn't even allowed to kill anyone. I was told to protect them. I mean, how sick is that? Am I not a young, vital demon with basic demon needs and rights? And when I call Crowley to inform him that I've single-handedly caught Sam Winchester and one of the witches that he has been cavorting with, if he even answers my call, think I'll get a thank you? Ha!"

Stalling for time until he could work the small blade in the back of his shirt loose, Ron groped for anything to keep the demon babbling.

"Yeah, you're right. He won't give you credit. If anything, he'll be pissed."

"What?" Dell snapped at him, still mixing the bowl full of blood.

"Crowley and the Winchesters - they've been thick as thieves lately. Spent time working together over the last few months quite a bit."

So, that's where he's been. Out partying with humans, with hunters?! While I languish here in this go-nowhere, no-kill joke of a job," Del said, mostly to himself.

"Partying" is a bit of an exaggeration," Ron mumbled loud enough for Del to hear.

"This job blows!" he shouted and before Ron realized it, the little demon had whipped the sinister looking blade he had used to deck Ron out from behind his back. In a flash, he was crouched on the ground, inches from his face, twisting the tip of the knife towards his throat, muttering curses and threats. The demon pressed the knife just below Ron's ear slowly, clearly enjoying himself. Finally the steel broke the skin and warm blood trickled down Ron's throat and the demon giggled like a child as he drug the blade through the soft flesh, leave a slit a few inches long in its wake.

Eyes lit with fire, Del raised the arm back, grinning manically and prepared to sink it hilt deep into Ron. Trying frantically to get to something that would loose his hands, Ron stared up, feeling the last few seconds of his life slip through his hands.

And it was in that moment that the door behind them crashed open loudly. Barely pausing to take in the scene, Sam sprang across the room, tackling Del who had turned to see who was coming to ruin his fun. With a sickening crunch, the demon's head collide with the metal shelf behind him and his body went limp as he passed out.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, coming to kneel beside Ron, eyeing the blood running freely into his collar. Despite the fact that there were two demons on the floor, one of them still alive, and a very bedraggled woman standing in the door, Ron reached up and pulled Sam into a rough hug.

He had had his fair share of near death experiences but the fact that Sam hadn't hesitated and now looked after him with genuine concern was better than anything Sam could have said; they were going to be alright.

Sam chuckled, understanding. He patted Ron on the shoulder a couple times and they broke apart, Ron scrabbling to his feet, pulling his wand from his pocket to seal up the gash in his neck.

Seeing that Ron was alright, Sam spun around and fastened the demons hands and feet with zip ties before he could come to. Grimacing, he smeared his fingers through the blood puddling on the floor and etched a hasty Devil's trap around Del as his eyes started to flutter. Slowly he pulled himself to his knees and took in his situation with resignation.

"You're going to kill me?" he stated matter of factly.

"No - we're saving you for someone," Sam said smiling darkly.

"Crowley?" Del said with a mixture of relief and fear. Continuing to smile, Sam turned slowly and extended the hilt of Ruby's demon-killing dagger towards the shadowed doorway. Like mist gathering on a cold window, Mrs. Tran floated into the room, rage and revenge practically crackling in the air around her.

"Do the honors, Ms. Tran," Sam muttered.

"With pleasure," she glowered before she thrust the knife so deep into the demon the hilt was splashed with blood.

"Take me to my son," she said firmly, wiping the blade on the dead demons shirt.

Cold wind whipped past Hermione's face and she and Cas walked, surrounded by a group of angels, through an empty backlot behind the department store they'd just left. Hermione could still feel the pressure of the angel blade over her spine and the hand around her elbow gripped painfully tight.

Two other angels were flanking Castiel, clearly considering him more of a threat than a young witch. They were however, wise enough to put several lengths between the two of them, prevent Hermione from apparting them away.

"You've been hard to pin down," the angel behind Castiel muttered. Hermione noticed that aside from holding his arms, there was nothing restraining Castiel. Apparently they knew enough about them to know that the knife to her back was enough to hold him back.

"What do you want Nehelm?" Cas ground out between gritted teeth.

"Me? Nothing. But the boss just wants to… talk," the last word fell too slowly from the angels lips and it made the acid in Hermione's stomach roll. Slowly, a sleek black car came around the corner, approaching them and Hermione began to think furiously, looking for a way out.

As they halted to wait for the car, the angel just behind Hermione and the little girl prodding her along came to stand beside her. In a motion as fluid as wind, his blade was in his hand and his arm flew up across Hermione's brow, bringing the hilt of weapon across her temple. She crumbled in his arms.

"NO!" Castiel roared, surging towards them. Instantly, the tip of the blade pressed dangerously hard against Hermione's neck and he froze.

"Just a little insurance, to make sure you listen carefully," the burly angel holding his beloved spat. "Do what you're told and she'll be fine," he growled and the other angels around Castiel shoved him into the back of the sedan. The car peeled away quickly, carrying Castiel off to the headquarters of Bartholomew. It had disappeared down the road and out of sight just before Hermione started to rouse.

The angel holding her tightened his grip as she stiffened and jerked, looking around frantically.

"Where's Castiel?" she cried, panic making her vision pop and crack.

"Calm down!" the angel yelled as she struggled hard enough to pull him back and forth several inches. Hermione ignored him and fought to free her arms and get her wand from the angel holding it. She was so focused on wrenching her pinned wrists free that she didn't notice the white light spiral under her skin.

"What the…" the angel holding her started, seeing the spiraling light and the soft glow shining just beneath the curtain of hair covering her face. A deep growl started to build in her throat and she heaved against him with enough force to flip him onto the ground. Her vision continued to sparkle with rage and she spun on the spot and snatched her wand from the dumbfounded angel a few feet from her.

Her brain seemed to hit pause; every part of her heart wanted to pursue Castiel. But her arms and mouth seemed to move on their own.

Raising her wand rigidly, she leveled it with the heart of the angel that had knocked her out. Words she didn't recognize flowed from her lips in a buzz of power, feeling hot and sticky. Power blasted from the skin of her fingers into the wand which acted as a conduit for the raw energy exploding from her.

Before her eyes, the angel froze, wreathed in white-hot light before his inner Grace flared and burst from behind his eyes. The light faded and his vessel slumped onto the concrete, burnt out.

The angels surrounding her began to flee, terrified of the power pulsing for this human. Her rage wasn't quenched and almost like a marionette, she pivoted from angel to angel, blasting them apart from the inside.

Seconds later she was alone, panting heavily in the alley way behind the stores, with half a dozen bodies scattered around her, spirals of smoke curling from their charred eye sockets.

Her breath continued to come in ragged sheets as the light dimmed in her eyes. She'd seen it all happen; she'd done it. But it had felt like she was watching an animal in a cage from the other side of the bars.

How had she'd done that? Where had the power come from?

Almost like the sinister knock of a hitman come to collect bounty, she felt the pressure of the angel tablet, far heavier than it had been moments ago, press on her hip from inside the duffle bag she had against her body under her jacket.

Violent tremors started in her hands and she squeezed her wand painfully to keep from dropping it. Tears bubbled in the corners of her eyes and leaked unbidden down her face as she turned and magiced a giant hole into the soil behind the parked cars. It took more work than it should have to levitate the bodies into the pit and cover them over with the dirt.

Once finished, she sent about following the trail left behind by Castiel's captors; still shaking and cheeks stained with dirt and tear tracks.


End file.
